Zzyzx Road
by MishaMuse
Summary: Chris Jericho and CM Punk break down in the middle of the desert on their way to a venue. They've seen some strange things, but nothing has prepared them for Zzyzx Road and how it will change their lives forever. NOT slash.
1. The Road

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

A/N: Also, I know that it's supposed to be pronounced Zye-zix, but most of the characters are pronouncing it Ziz-ix. And yes, that is actually important to the story. ;P

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 1: The Road

"We're in the middle of nowhere." Chris Jericho kicked the tire of the car, then turned to stare at the driver. "I swear to God, Punk, I'm never riding with you again."

CM Punk sighed. "It's not my fault," he said. "You know I don't normally drive. And anyway, what did you expect me to do about it? The car's broken."

"Of course it isn't your fault," Jericho muttered. He sat down on the hood and stared into the distance. "The middle of nowhere," he repeated, shaking his head.

"Well," Punk said, settling himself near the front passenger tire, "maybe we can use this time for something productive."

"Like what? There's no cell service out here, and it's getting dark. Vince is expecting us in Vegas, and we're…" he looked around pointedly, then down at Punk, "in the middle of nowhere."

"I get it," said Punk irritably. "It's the middle of nowhere. I thought maybe we could go over the match we're having tomorrow night?"

Jericho said, "I expected to be at the hotel, downing Grey Goose tonight and now I'm stuck out here with you."

"Yeah, and you're my idea of a fun time, too," said Punk sarcastically. "The match?"

"We've been over it fifty times already in the car. I do not want to sit out here and talk about the damned match any more."

"Fine. Then what do you suggest?"

Jericho shrugged. "How about the car not being broken?"

"Can you fix it?" asked Punk.

"No."

"Me either. And I can't call anyone. So what else do you suggest?"

Jericho sighed. "Maybe we ought to walk?"

"To where? We're probably fifty miles from anywhere. I don't feel like running myself to death only to get hit by some idiot doing eighty on the Interstate."

"I saw a sign," Jericho said. "Where there's a sign, there's usually something."

Punk stared up at Jericho. "That's probably why there's no sign anywhere near your head."

"Oh, you're funny." Jericho pushed off the hood of the car. "So are we walking or what?"

"I think we should stay put," said Punk. "Someone will probably come along eventually."

"Okay then," Jericho said, smirking. "They'll probably murder you. It was nice knowing ya, Punk." He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and started to walk off, whistling.

Punk shot a nervous look at the interstate, then said, "Wait up, Chris." He grabbed a bag out of the car and followed the other superstar.

"What's the bag for?"

Punk said, "First aid kit."

"All right then," Jericho said, still smirking.

"Hey, if you get bit by a snake or something, you'll be glad I grabbed it."

"Maybe you should have grabbed a flashlight."

Punk grinned and dug through the bag. "Here." He handed Jericho a flashlight.

"Dork," Jericho muttered.

"What's your point?"

Jericho turned the light on. "Nothing. Just saying."

Keeping the light on the edge of the road before them, the pair walked away from the car and into the falling darkness. "Are you sure you saw a sign?" Punk asked, after twenty minutes.

"Well, I might have been wrong," Jericho admitted. "It could have been a mirage."

"And you're just now telling me this? We should go back," Punk said. "We've wasted enough time slogging through the desert, looking for a sign."

"Maybe you're right," Jericho said, sighing as he allowed the flashlight to slip down and shine across the ground in front of them. "Wait. What is that?"

Punk had turned away and was studying the deserted road. "What is what?" he asked.

Jericho took a couple of steps and kicked something, the clanging noise causing Punk to turn and glare at him. "That."

Punk shot an annoyed look at the sky, then stalked after Jericho, who was shining his flashlight at a sign half buried in the sand. "Looks like a sign," Punk said.

Jericho said, "Here, hold the light. I'm going to see if I can't clear it off."

Punk took the light and shone it down on the sign while Jericho eased it up out of the sand. He held it for a long moment in the light, a frown on his face. "What does it say?" Punk asked. Jericho turned the sign so that his companion could read it. "Zzyzx Road? What do you suppose that means?"

"Someone ran out of letters when making this sign?" said Jericho with a shrug.

"I'm in Hell," Punk said. "That's the only explanation."

Jericho mused. "Wouldn't it have been easier to put 'Hell' on the sign, then?"

"Definitely Hell," Punk said. He handed the flashlight back, then turned to stare down the road. Somewhere along the way, they'd managed to lose the main highway. He wasn't sure when it had happened; just a moment ago, he'd been looking at the slow trickle of traffic flowing by, but now, the main road was nowhere to be found. "It's so quiet."

"I expected screaming," Jericho said. "If it's Hell and all."

"As soon as I'm done going insane, you'll get your screaming," Punk promised.

"Oh, so you aren't done yet?"

"Not even close. Maybe we should walk back to the car. Where's the road, anyway?"

Jericho swung the flashlight back the way they'd come. "It's right… Uh… there?"

Punk nodded. "That's what I thought."

"That's a little weird," Jericho muttered, moving away from the sign to the dusty road that ran past them. "It was a highway a minute ago, wasn't it?"

"Maybe it's shut down because someone spilled toxic waste on it and we're slowly dying," Punk offered.

"Or someone slipped some mushrooms into your Pepsi and we're hallucinating," Jericho said, earning him a sharp look from the straightedge superstar. "What? Not me! But I wouldn't put it past that idiot Riley."

"Why would Alex Riley slip anything into my drinks?"

"Because Miz told him to?" said Jericho with a shrug. "Anyway, it's moot, right? We're out in the middle of nowhere with no working phone, no way back to the car and a road sign. What do you suggest we do?"

"Damn it," Punk sighed.

"I say we walk down this road and see where it goes," Jericho continued, as though Punk hadn't spoken. "It must lead somewhere. We can probably borrow a phone to call the car company, then get back on the road. Just a little hiccup, which will be a great story to tell the guys tomorrow at breakfast."

Punk shook his head. "Do you not watch horror movies? We're in the middle of the freaking desert. If we go down that road, we'll probably be eaten by inbred cannibals."

"I don't know why you're worried. You're too stringy to be eaten by inbred cannibals, Punk. Not to mention, you'd probably cause them lots of intestinal distress."

"…thanks?" Punk said.

Jericho grinned. "Come on. We're already a mile or more from the car. What's the harm in walking two or three more?"

Punk eyed him. "Were you doing crack at the last rest stop or something?"

"Not that I recall, no. Why?"

"Because…" Punk said, then paused, squinting down the dirt road past the sign. "What is that?"

Jericho turned. "I don't see anything."

"There's a light," Punk said. "You don't see it?"

"Maybe you're the one doing crack."

"I'm not," Punk muttered. "You honestly don't see it?"

"No?" Jericho said. "Hmm, wait. Maybe?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I don't know," Jericho said. "I think I see something, but it could be the glare from your stellar personality."

"You are so funny," Punk said. "I don't like this, Chris. Where did that light come from?"

"Relax. It's probably someone's house and they just turned on the light. It hasn't been dark all that long, Punk."

"Right. Sorry."

Jericho followed Punk's uneasy gaze toward the light. "Maybe we should walk that way. What do you think?" Punk was silent, his eyes on the light in the distance. "Punk? Hey, Punk." Jericho nudged the other man.

"What?" Punk said, shaking his head.

"You seemed pretty spaced out for a minute there," Jericho said. "I am seriously starting to wonder why I let you drive this leg."

"Because you were tired," Punk said, his eyes never leaving the light. "And possibly a little hung over from last night's oversized frat party."

"Well, that would explain why I might be hallucinating, but not why you would be."

Punk finally looked at his friend. "No, it doesn't. So that must be real, then. And that makes it a danger."

"It's just a light, Punk."

"It's always just a something, Chris," Punk snapped. "Just a dog turns into Cujo. Just a car turns into Christine. Just a light turns into evil aliens who want to steal our bodies and probe us!"

"Uh," Jericho said, edging away slowly. "Did you sleep last night, buddy?"

"No," Punk said. "There was too much noise in the hotel, so I stayed up to watch old movies."

"Then maybe we're dead."

"How do you get that from me not sleeping?"

"Easy," Jericho said. "I'm napping in the car, sleeping off the drunk. You're driving on nothing but Pepsi, which is pure sugar and caffeine. They fail you and you fall asleep, thus crashing the car and killing us."

"Pepsi never fails me," Punk insisted.

"Well, maybe you had a stroke? Went into a diabetic coma? Swerved to miss a passing giraffe?"

Punk's eye twitched. "A… passing…. Giraffe?"

Jericho shrugged. "It could happen."

"Maybe if we were in Africa."

"Or near a zoo."

"Which we're not," Punk said. "We're not near anything but that." He indicated the light. "And I don't like it. I want to find the main road and get back to the car."

"Why?" Jericho said. "It's not like it's going anywhere."

"Unless the police tow it. Then we could be stranded out here until someone killed us and let the sun bleach our bones."

Jericho smirked. "You watch too many movies, Punk. Anyway, they've got light, so that means they're bound to have a phone too, right?"

"How do you figure?"

"Because they have light."

"What does that have to do with them having a phone, Chris?"

Jericho said, "I don't know. I'm assuming if you have lights, you have a phone. I mean, you have both, right?"

"Yes, I do. I also live in a huge freaking city and not out in the middle of the desert."

"Good point." Jericho stared at the light, a bemused expression on his face. "I suppose there's only one way to find out." He took a step, but Punk grabbed his arm.

"Are you crazy?" Punk demanded. "We know absolutely nothing about the light. We don't even know if it belongs to people or aliens."

"Pretty sure it belongs to people, Punk," Jericho said with a chuckle.

"Don't laugh!" Punk said. "It may sound stupid, but every single horror movie ever starts with someone making a huge mistake like this, and I do not want to die tonight, thanks."

"Quit being such a wimp," Jericho said. "I'm sure they're harmless, whoever they are."

Punk smirked and said very deliberately, "Famous. Last. Words, Jericho."

"Whatever," Jericho said. "Are you coming or what?" And with that, he stepped onto the faint dirt road they could see in the moonlight.

"You're an idiot," Punk sighed, as he followed Jericho down the road. "And so am I."


	2. The House

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 2: The House

The house was closer than it had looked from the road. As they approached, the light from the porch shone across the sand, throwing shadows over the scrubby little desert plants and a stunted cactus off to the left. "Charming," Punk muttered. Jericho snorted and stepped onto the porch. "Chris, I don't think you should…"

Jericho knocked, then turned to his companion. "Relax, would you? It's just a house."

"Yeah," Punk said. "Okay."

A moment later, a little old man answered the door. "Can I help you?"

"Hi," Chris said. "I'm Chris. Sorry to bother you, but our car broke down on the highway, and we saw your light."

"That's a bit of a walk, isn't it?" said the man with a smile. "We don't get many visitors out this way." He peered past Chris at Punk, then said, "Two of you, huh? Where are you boys headed?"

"Las Vegas," Chris said. "We work as wrestlers for the WWE and we have a show there this weekend."

"Oh, hmm." The man rocked back on his heels, looking at them thoughtfully. "Your friend speak?"

"I speak," Punk said.

The man smiled and nodded, then turned to say, "Here, Martha, look what the wind blew in this time. Two of them wrestling fellas that Toby and Jim like so much."

A woman peeked out at them. "Oh, land's sakes, Herb. So it is. You boys hungry?"

Punk cleared his throat and Jericho said, "No thank you, ma'am. We wouldn't want to impose on you kind folks. But if you have a phone…?"

"No phone," said the man. "Never seen a point to it. Who would we call?"

"I don't know," Jericho said.

"Well, we're sorry for bothering you," Punk said. "We'd better get going, Chris. We've got a long walk ahead of us tonight."

"Nonsense!" said Martha. "It's dark out. You could wander into a mine or get bitten by a snake and you wouldn't stand a chance. At least wait until morning and Herb can drive you boys back to the road."

"That's very kind of you," Jericho said. "But we have people waiting for us."

"You're not likely to get anywhere tonight," said Herb. "And we'd feel terrible if something happened to you out there."

"It just wouldn't be right," Martha agreed. "We've got a spare room, now that Toby and Jim are moved out. It's clean and it's got two beds, and it's much safer than the desert in the dark."

"What do you say, boys?" Herb said with a smile.

"Why not?" Jericho said. "Thank you very much for your kindness."

"God help us," Punk muttered under his breath before he climbed the stairs. "Thank you," he told the couple.

"Look how skinny you are!" Martha exclaimed. "You poor things must be hungry! I'll make you some food. Eggs and bacon okay?"

"You don't have to go to all that trouble…" Punk began, but Jericho cut him off.

"It's fine, Ma'am," Jericho said. "Thank you."

"You boys just call me Martha," she said. "Everyone does." She turned to Punk. "I heard your friend's name, but not yours."

Punk glanced at Jericho. "People call me Punk," he said.

"Punk?" said Martha, scrunching up her nose. "Why would you let them call you something so awful? What's your real name, child?"

"Uh," Punk said. "It's Phil."

"Oh, now that's a nice name!" Martha smiled again. "I hope you boys don't mind scrambled eggs. Those are my specialty." She winked at Herb, who chuckled.

"Sounds great," Jericho said. He nudged Punk, who was looking mildly freaked out.

Punk jumped and glared at his companion. "What?"

"Nothing," Jericho said. They stood in silence until Herb pulled one of the chairs out and sat down at the table. "You can sit down, if you want," he said, reaching for a book on the table.

Punk caught a glimpse of the title and shivered. "Are you cold, dear?" Martha asked with concern.

"No ma'am," Punk said, as he and Jericho took seats at the table. "Just tired, I guess."

"Poor things," Martha said. "Food will be done in a minute, and then you two can go to bed."

"It smells wonderful," said Jericho. "Just like mum used to make."

Martha smiled and set the plates before Jericho and Punk. "I hope you like it, dears. Now if you'll excuse me, this old lady has to go rest her weary bones. Herb will show you to your rooms when you're finished, won't you dear?" she asked the man, kissing his head.

"I will, Martha." He smiled at her, then turned to the other two. "You boys can leave the dishes in the sink to soak and I'll get them in the morning."

"Thank you so much," Jericho said. "We appreciate the kindness and hospitality you've shown us."

"Yes, thank you," Punk echoed, his eyes on the table as he nibbled at his food.

"It's no problem," Herb said. "You looked like you could use a little help out there. Old Zzyzx road is a lonely place, especially at night. Toby and Jim used to say that you never knew when you'd meet the devil a'comin' up that road in the dark."

Punk looked up at the man, alarmed. "Devil?"

"It's a saying around these parts," Herb said. "Not the real devil, of course. But there are rattlesnakes and old mines aplenty out there. One wrong step and you're dead."

"I'll keep that in mind," Punk said. "Thanks."

"Always good to share what you know," Herb said with a smile.

"I'm stuffed," Jericho said into the silence that had settled between them. "Can't eat another bite, but it was delicious."

Herb turned to Punk. "You should eat, son."

Punk scooped up a bite of the eggs and slipped it into his mouth. Suddenly, he was hungry and the food smelled amazing. Not to mention how good it tasted… He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes on the half empty plate. "It's very good," he said, "but you know, I'm full, too."

"All right then," Herb said. He watched them as they dumped the leftovers into the trash, then put the plates into the sink. "I'll show you to your room." The house wasn't very big. Off the kitchen was a room with a closed door and a small living room with an old black and white TV that had rabbit ears on top. Phil mused on that as they were led past a bathroom with ancient looking plumbing to a set of stairs that led up. "This is the loft," said Herb. "I'd climb up and show you, but I'm feeling creaky. I'm sure you boys can find on your own."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Jericho said. "And thanks again for your hospitality."

"Isn't any other way to be," said Herb. "My mama raised me better than that. Goodnight, boys." He turned and walked away, leaving Jericho and Punk alone.

"This is a little creepy," Punk said, staring up the dark stairway.

"Don't be a baby," Jericho said. "You've been freaking out the whole night, and for what? They're letting us sleep in their house after feeding us." He started up the stairs, with Punk close behind.

"Yeah, but don't you think it was a little odd?" Punk asked.

"What?"

"Everything. He was holding The Shining by Stephen King while we ate. It was on the table when we came in."

"So? Lots of people read Stephen King. YOU read him."

"I know, I know," Punk sighed. "But I was getting the creepiest vibe downstairs. I wish we could get the hell out of here."

"You heard Herb. There's too many dangerous things out there for us to go out tonight. He said he'd drive us back tomorrow, when it's light out."

"Why do we have to wait til it's light out?"

"Geez, Punk. The guy's old. Maybe he doesn't like driving in the dark because it's hard to see out there."

"Maybe," Punk muttered. "But I'm not buying it."

At the top of the stairs, Jericho found the switch and turned on the light. "Wow," he breathed. "Will you look at this place?"

"I'd rather not," Punk said.

Jericho threw a smirk back over his shoulder and walked through the open door. There was a small bathroom across the hall, but the room that he'd entered was spacious, although the ceilings slanted down on the sides. The room was wallpapered with yellowed stripes and little pale blue flowers. There were two full sized beds, one on each side of the wide room, their heads nearly touching beneath a square window. A small pathway, big enough for one person to squeeze through separated the beds. "This house doesn't look big enough for a room like this," Jericho said, admiringly.

"Maybe that ought to worry you."

"No, you're worrying enough for both of us." He sighed and stretched out on the bed on the left. "This is heavenly."

Punk leaned over and flipped the light switch near the window. The lights went out. "More like hell," he muttered.

"Night, Punky," Jericho said with a grin.

Punk groaned. "Don't call me that."

"Okay. Goodnight, Philly?"

"Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"Stick with Punky."

Chris chuckled. "Will do."

It didn't take long for sleep to overtake them both. Even as it claimed him, Punk worried that they may have made a fatal mistake.

###

Morning light shone through the square window, bringing Punk up from sleep with a snort. Jericho's bed was empty. Heart pounding, Punk got up and put on his shoes, then headed for the stairs. In the daylight, they looked completely mundane, and he tried to remember why he'd felt so paranoid the previous evening. "Must be stress," he muttered to himself as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Jericho was sitting at the table, in the same spot he'd occupied the previous night, a cup of coffee in front of him. "Hey, good morning, sleepyhead."

Punk stifled a yawn. "Morning. Is there more of that?" He indicated the cup. "And where are Herb and Martha?"

"Coffee's on the stove, and they said they'd be back in a minute. I was going to wake you, but you looked so peaceful this morning and I know you haven't been sleeping…"

"That's nothing new. I never sleep." He took a cup from the drainer by the sink and filled it with coffee from the old fashioned percolator on the stove. Jericho pushed the sugar across the table when Punk sat down. "Thanks. Anyway, I feel pretty good. Ready to wrestle."

Jericho chuckled. "I'm sure we'll be on the road soon."

"Yeah." Punk sipped the coffee and looked thoughtfully at his companion.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're not still thinking that something weird is going on, right? I mean, you woke up today. This is obviously not a horror movie."

"Yeah," Punk muttered. "Obviously." His eyes shifted to the door as it creaked open. He couldn't remember if it had been that noisy the previous night. Then again, he'd been feeling very edgy at the time. "Morning," he said to Herb and Martha as they stepped inside.

"Good morning, Phil!" said Martha with a smile. "Are you hungry? We've got fresh eggs from the henhouse if you'd like me to make you some."

"No thank you," Punk said. "I'm not much for breakfast."

"Hmm, I can see that," she said, eyes narrowed. "How did you sleep?"

"Honestly?" Punk said. "That's the best night's sleep I've had in years."

"Well, good!" Herb said. "We've enjoyed your visit. Maybe you boys will come back and see us sometime. Get a good night's sleep and Martha can fatten you up." The couple laughed.

Punk furrowed his brow. "Thanks."

"Are you boys ready to get back on the road, then?" Herb asked.

"I think so," Jericho said. "Phil?"

"Definitely," Punk muttered, glaring at his companion, who smiled innocently at him.


	3. The Journey

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 3: The Journey

Herb's truck was off white, colored by rust and years in the desert. The door groaned loudly when he opened it. "Give me a minute, fellas. I've got to get her warmed up." He turned over the engine, which rumbled and grumbled.

"I think this truck is older than we are," Punk said to Jericho.

"It's definitely a classic," Jericho said. "I bet it predates seatbelts."

Herb pulled the lock up on the passenger door and cranked the window down. "She's as ready as she'll ever be," he said.

Jericho looked at Punk, then shrugged. "You first."

Punk sighed and climbed into the noisy vehicle. "It's gonna be dusty," said Herb apologetically. "Road always is."

"That'll be fine," Punk said, smirking at his blonde companion. "Chris doesn't mind a little dust, right?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks for the ride."

"You boys are polite, I'll give you that," Herb said, as he noisily ground the truck into gear and started rolling down the dirt road. "Sometimes we get people down this way as rude as the day is long. I don't cotton much to rude folks. Never invite 'em back, but you two are welcome anytime. Martha can make you up some food and you can tell us about the places you've been. We don't leave the old homestead much anymore, so it's nice to hear tales about other places. Maybe next time you're down this way, we can go fishing at the lake."

Punk ran his teeth over his lip ring, glancing at Jericho. "I don't know when we'll get back this way again," he said. "We usually do shows in Vegas every six months or so, and we're almost always on a tight schedule. It may be a while."

"That's all right," Herb said. "Whenever you get the time." He whistled contentedly until they reached the paved road, then turned to his passengers. "I wish I could take you farther, but this old truck can't go on the road. She'd probably rattle herself to death going more than twenty five. But you walk up a hundred yards in that direction, and there's a little store. They have a phone and they'll call you a tow truck for your car."

Jericho opened the door and slid out, followed by Punk. "Thanks for the ride, Herb."

Herb tipped an imaginary hat to the two and said, "Hope to see you again soon. You ever find yourself out by Zzyxz road, stop in and say howdy." Then, with a wink, he backed the truck to a wide spot, turned around and drove off in a trail of dust.

"That," said Punk, as they watched the dust cloud settle, "was the weirdest night of my life."

"Yeah," Jericho said, "but kind of awesome, too."

They turned and surveyed the blacktop road, cars zooming along at crazy speeds. "Better start walking," said Punk with a sigh. "See if we can't find that store Herb was talking about."

"Yep. Damn, it's hot out here."

"Told you it was Hell," Punk said.

"I still don't know how we wandered off the road last night and didn't notice."

"Seems improbable," the other man agreed. "Yet it happened." He ran a hand over his hair, still not used to how short it felt, even after all this time.

"You should let it grow out again," Jericho said. He started to walk the direction Herb had pointed. "Hey, I may be wrong, but I think I see the store."

Punk fell into step beside his friend, squinting into the distance. "Yeah. Looks a little run down, huh?"

"A little."

Silence fell between them again. Punk could feel the sweat trickling down his neck. "I hope they have Pepsi," he grumbled.

"Never mind Pepsi. I hope they have a phone."

The store was closer than it had initially looked. The paint was sun bleached and dirty from all the cars rushing past on the road. A pair of ancient gas pumps sat in front. "I don't think it's open," Punk said.

"Doesn't matter," said his companion. "Look." On the side of the building, out of the bright sunlight, was a pay phone.

"Do you think it works? It looks ratty."

"As long as I can get a dial tone, who cares?" Jericho said. They reached the phone and he lifted the handle, listening for a long moment. Punk's heart nearly stopped, then they heard it. The blessed loud sound of the dial tone, turned way up on the pay phone. "Thank God." Jericho dug through his pockets and pulled out a couple of quarters.

"What are you doing?"

He pointed to the label on the phone that said, "Calls anywhere in the US, 3 minutes for a dollar."

"Just call AAA," Punk advised. "It's free."

"Fine," said Jericho, pausing to get the card from his wallet. He dialed the number and waited.

"AAA, this is Shelley. How can I help you?" came the voice on the other end.

"I'm a member, and I'm stranded in the middle of nowhere," Jericho said. "My car broke down. Can you send a truck?"

"Yes sir," said the woman cheerily. She checked the information he gave her on the computer and said, "I see you haven't used your card in a while."

"Luckily, I haven't broken down recently," he agreed.

"All right, I can send a driver out to pick you up. It may be a while, since you're in the middle of nowhere."

Jericho smirked at Punk and said, "Even the nice lady at AAA knows we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Shut up," Punk muttered. "It's not my fault."

"Uh huh."

"The truck should be there in about an hour," said the operator. "Do you have a number I can call you back at to let you know when he's on his way?"

"No, I've got no reception out here, and this phone says it won't take incoming calls."

"All right, that's fine," she said. "I'm marking you as a priority, so they can try to get to you faster."

"Thank you, Shelley. You're a godsend."

Shelley laughed. "I wish someone would tell my husband that," she said. "Can I do anything else for you today?'

"No, that's it," he said.

"Thank you for calling AAA," Shelley said. "Have a nice day!"

"You too," he said before hanging up the phone.

"Well?"

"An hour, maybe sooner."

Punk sighed and slid down to sit in the shade of the building. "Do you want to go over the match?"

"No."

"Okay then." He picked up a rock and tossed it toward the bushes.

"Don't do that. What if there's a snake in there?"

Punk sat up suddenly. "Damn it!"

"What?" Jericho said, staring at Punk in alarm. "What is it?"

Punk leaned against the building, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his forehead as though he had a headache. "I forgot my bag at Herb and Martha's."

###

Between the heat and the dull drone of cars on the road, Punk felt sleepy. He thought that was weird, since he'd slept so well the night before. He and Jericho weren't talking anymore. He hadn't taken kindly to being laughed at by his companion for forgetting the bag, since he'd been so distracted by worrying about him this morning. He was nearly about to doze off when Jericho jumped up and said, "Look."

Punk squinted at where he was pointing. "Tow truck?"

"Yep." He offered his friend a hand up, but Punk ignored it, using the wall to push himself to his feet instead. "I'm sorry about the stupid bag, okay?"

"I'm sorry about the stupid bag, too," was the muttered answer.

The tow truck driver eased his vehicle up to where they stood and rolled his window down. A blast of icy air hit Jericho, making him wince. He felt like the heat was baked into his skin. "You call for a tow truck?" said the man.

"Sure did," Jericho said. "We've got a car about a mile back that way."

"Well, hop in," said the man. "We'll go find it and get you back where you belong."

Punk thought that was a weird thing to say, but then again, everything about this trip had been weird. "After you," he said to Jericho, who smirked at him and climbed in.

"You guys are a long way from anywhere," said the driver.

"Yeah, we saw," Punk said, trying to hide his sarcasm.

Jericho poked his friend in the ribs. "Be nice," he said. He turned to the driver. "You must get a lot of calls out here, huh?"

"Fair amount," the man agreed. "People don't prepare for the worst and run out of gas or blow a tire, then realize that they don't have cell reception." He chuckled. "They usually walk down to that station you were at and call us. This road's brutal on cars, but it's good for business."

Punk scanned the roadside. "I'm pretty sure we didn't walk that far," he said to his companions. "It seemed like a long walk last night, but shouldn't we have passed the car by now?"

"We'll give it a few more miles," said the tow truck man. "People get disoriented at night sometimes, especially out here. Everything looks the same."

"Yeah," Punk muttered, squinting as they zoomed past the abandoned landscape. It looked about as familiar as the moon. "What did that sign say?"

"That?" said the tow truck driver unconcernedly. "It was a sign for Zzyzx road." He pronounced it Zye-zix.

Punk felt chilled. "We're backtracking? How is that possible? We haven't turned around."

"What?" said the driver, distracted.

"We were around here last night," Jericho explained. "This is where we walked from."

"Okay," said the tow truck driver, "but I still don't see a car."

"Maybe it got towed?"

"We didn't tow anything out here last night," said the driver.

"Huh," Jericho said, frowning. "Maybe the town on the other side got it?" He turned to Punk. "I told you I saw a sign last night. Maybe that was it?"

"Yeah, but…" Punk shook his head. "Never mind."

"So if your car isn't here," said the driver, "do you want me to take you to the station? I can get you guys a room or a bus ticket, or you can call AAA back and see about a rental car."

"Yes, please," Jericho said. "We may as well go ahead to Vegas. Vince is going to flip if we aren't there tonight. And I'm driving this time."

"Please do," said the straightedge superstar. "I'm feeling a little ill."


	4. The Destination

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 4: The Destination

By the time they got to Las Vegas, it was nearly two in the afternoon. Both men were tired from the time they'd spent in the shade of first one gas station and then another as they waited for a replacement rental car. They'd had the radio on low and neither had spoken much for the nearly hundred mile drive from quiet Baker, California into the crowded streets of Sin City. "What hotel are we staying at?" Jericho finally asked as they pulled onto the strip. Traffic was crawling along past the big hotels.

"Um," Punk said. "The pyramid one?"

"Luxor," Jericho said. "Right. Thanks." He squinted through the windshield at the hotel ahead. The sun was blazing. "So that was weird, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Punk said. "In fact, I'm going to try and forget that it happened and go on with my life."

"Really?" Jericho shifted in the seat so he could see his companion. "That's kind of funny. You're the one who always wants to talk about weird crap and now that there's something weird to talk about, you want to forget?"

"It was probably nothing," Punk said. "We spent the night with some nice people and the car got towed. Big deal. Let it go."

"Fine," Jericho sighed. He managed to scoot past another car into a lane that seemed to be moving, and in another ten minutes, they were pulling up to the Valet area at the Luxor. Jericho handed over his keys and the two men got out. "After this, we should go get some clothes. Thank God wardrobe started carrying spare trunks." Punk nodded and followed him into the hotel. The air was cool and both men sighed in relief. The car's air conditioning had been weak at best, but the hotel felt like a cool bath. They headed to the desk together, Jericho smiling at the woman who seemed to be waiting for them. "Hello. We should have reservations for tonight."

"Name please?" asked the woman politely.

"There should be one under Irvine and one under Brooks," Jericho said.

"Hmm." The woman tapped her keys and stared at the screen. "No reservation under either of those names for tonight."

"We were supposed to be here last night," said Punk, "but we didn't make it."

"Let me check that," said the woman. "Nope, none under those names, gentlemen. Sorry."

Jericho sighed. "One of those idiots probably cancelled our room when we didn't show up. Can we book two rooms?"

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "but we're nearly full tonight and rooms are at a premium. We've got one nonsmoking room and four smoking rooms left."

"Nonsmoking," Punk said.

"You'll have to share it," said the desk clerk.

Punk sighed. "As long as it has two beds, that's fine. Could you tell me what room Vince McMahon is in? I need to speak to him."

"Just a moment." The woman clicked her keys, then frowned. "I'm sorry. We don't have a Vince McMahon staying here this weekend."

"Of course not," Jericho said. "Come on, Punk. Let's get our room key, and then we can go to the arena and see if we can find the others."

Punk paid for the room, then collected the keys. "Thank you."

They headed out of the hotel, deep in thought, and waited for the valet to bring the rental car back. "Stupid jerks," Jericho said. "I bet Miz and Riley did this."

"What?"

"Cancelled our rooms. I wouldn't put it past them."

"Maybe you should quit drinking with them so they'll leave me out of it."

Jericho snorted. "They're not going to leave you out of it, regardless of what I do." He took the keys from the valet and slid back into the car. "Come on. We'd better get over to the Thomas and Mack center and see what they need us to do."

Punk climbed into the passenger seat. "It's going to take forever to get back through this traffic. Do you even know where the Thomas and Mack center is?"

"Yeah. Headquarters drew us all maps."

"Mine's in my luggage," Punk muttered.

Jericho dug through his pocket and came up with a crumpled, dirty paper. "And here's mine."

"Yuck," Punk said, taking the paper by the edges and unfolding it. "What did you do to the poor thing?"

"It's just dirt, Punk. It won't bite you."

"You hope, anyway." He stared at the map, then sighed and looked up at his friend. "So I see how we get there."

"Okay, good."

"But traffic's going to be a nightmare, Chris. Just so you know."

Jericho chuckled and slid back into traffic. "It always is. Welcome to Las Vegas."

###

The Thomas and Mack center had been the scene of many different concerts, games and wrestling events. Despite the fact that it was mid afternoon, they expected the place to be buzzing with people, but the lot was nearly empty. "Well, that's weird," Jericho said. He pulled up to the front of the building and tried the doors. "Locked," he said to Punk.

"Try the box office?" Punk asked.

"Good idea." Jericho turned and headed for the windows marked "Box Office." He knocked on one and waved when someone pulled the shade up.

"We're closed," the woman said. "Come back later."

"I'm sorry," Jericho said. "I don't mean to bother you, but we were supposed to be meeting the WWE here tonight for a show."

"WWE?" said the woman with a frown. "They're not doing a show here tonight."

Punk joined him at the window. "What do you mean, they aren't doing a show?" he demanded. "We're supposed to meet them here. Is this some kind of joke?"

"Not at all," the woman said. "According to my schedule, they're going to be here next month, but there's nothing between now and then."

Punk frowned at Jericho. "Something is very off," he said.

Jericho said to the woman in the box office, "Can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

Can you go to Ticketmaster and see where the WWE is playing next?"

"Sure. Do you want Raw or Smackdown?"

"Raw, preferably," Jericho said. "Although if Smackdown's closer, I guess we could go there."

The girl clicked her keys, then turned to look at the men. "It looks like they're going to be in Tampa, Florida tomorrow."

The two men exchanged a look. "Thank you," Jericho said. "We appreciate the information."

"Maybe we should call Vince?" Punk asked.

"Good idea." Jericho took out his phone and dialed Vince's number. "It went straight to voicemail. Hey, Vince, this is Chris Jericho. I'm here in Vegas with CM Punk. We're sorry about the mix up with the show, but we're on our way to the airport to catch a plane to Tampa right now. I'll call you when we're on the ground." He snapped the phone closed, then turned back to Punk. "Come on, let's hit the airport and see if we can't find a way home tonight."

"Your home, maybe," Punk said. "Are you going to call Jessica?"

"Already tried, but there was no answer. She's probably mad at me for not calling last night. I'll drop in and see her since we're going to be right there."

"Awesome," Punk muttered. "You can drop me by the hotel first."

"Oh, speaking of…" Jericho tossed the room key and his phone to Punk. "Call the Luxor and cancel our room, huh?"

"Why do I always have to do it?" Punk grumbled.

"Because you're the one who isn't driving."

###

They cancelled the room and managed to make it onto nonstop flight from Las Vegas to Tampa. Since they had no bags to check, they were able to board and take their seats quietly. Punk chose the seat near the window, leaving his companion to deal with the drink cart and the curious stares of the other passengers. It seemed that Y2J had a lot of fans on the plane. Once the flight was in the air, Jericho turned to Punk. "That was weird."

"What? Being mobbed by fans?"

"No, being asked how long I've been a Chris Jericho impersonator. That little old lady told me that she thought I had the look down, but she thinks you need some work."

"What kind of work?"

"Well, according to her, you got the lip piercing wrong."

Punk stared at his companion. "Don't people have anything better to do than mock me?"

"Guess not."

"Well, whatever." He picked the Skymall magazine up and rifled through it.

"Alex and the Miz sure went through a lot to set us up this time."

"I don't think this is a set up, Chris."

"What? Why not?"

"For one thing, are Riley and Miz that smart?"

Jericho rubbed his forehead. "Maybe we're on Punk'd or something."

"It went off the air years ago, didn't it?"

"I heard Betty White was doing a show that was similar."

"So," Punk said, raising his eyebrows at Jericho, "you think we're being randomly punk'd by Betty White?"

Jericho shrugged. "It's just a thought."

"What's more likely is that there was a change in venue and we were unable to be reached, so they left us messages and went on."

"Left them where, though? Not at the box office and not at the hotel."

"I don't know," Punk said. "So let's just enjoy the flight as much as we can and we'll track down Vince and find out what the hell happened when we land, okay?"

"Sure," Jericho said with a sigh. "At least things should be back to normal soon. I'll go home and grab some clothes and then we can head to the venue."

"You forgot dropping me at the hotel first," Punk muttered around his magazine.

"It'll only take me a minute," Jericho said.

"Yeah, and your wife will probably be yelling the whole time. No thanks. Drop me by the hotel first."

"Fine," Jericho said. "I'll drop you off first, then go home."

"Thanks."

"Now maybe we should try to get some sleep, huh? It's going to be a long night."

"You go ahead, Chris," Punk said. "I don't think I can sleep right now. I've got too much on my mind."

"Like what?"

"Like who the hell plays a thousand dollars for a fan?" he said, holding up the magazine to show Jericho an air purifying system. "That seems a bit excessive."

Jericho chuckled at his friend. "Enjoy your Skymall, then." He closed his eyes. "I'm going to try and catch a nap."

"Good luck with that," Punk said, already engrossed in the magazine again. 


	5. The Revelation

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 5: The Revelation

It seemed to Punk that getting another rental car took forever. The plane ride hadn't been too bad, aside from the staring and whispering, but now that they were on the ground again, everything had gone weird. Jericho insisted that he'd left his car in the long term parking lot before heading out this trip, but it wasn't there. He tried to call Jessica again, but she still wasn't answering. "She must be pretty ticked off at you," Punk said, settling in the seat of the car they'd finally managed to rent.

"I guess so," said Jericho, furrowing his brow. He took the car onto the highway and headed for the hotel the WWE always used when they were in Tampa. The drive wasn't long, and the two of them were so distracted by their thoughts that neither of them noticed the scenery.

"Wow," Punk said, when they pulled up to the hotel. "Is it just me, or did they add a whole new wing since the last time I was here?"

Jericho stared at the hotel. "That's… weird. I was just here a month ago, and they were breaking ground on it. That went up really fast."

"Ah, you know. The life of a Superstar," said Punk with a shrug. "Always doomed to come home to new changes. Thanks for the ride, Chris."

"Yeah," said Jericho, distracted. "See you tonight."

Punk waved and headed into the hotel. The place was bustling with activity, and the man behind the desk looked harried. "Excuse me," Punk said.

"We're full tonight," the man said.

"I should have a reservation," Punk said.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were a fan, looking for a room."

Punk said, "It'll be under Brooks?"

The man frowned and searched the computer. "Sorry, we've just been so busy today…" He looked up. "It isn't there. Are you sure you're booked with us?"

"I should be," Punk said.

"I'm not seeing it. Would there be another name?"

Punk mused. "Could you try Mike Mizanin?" If the Miz were playing pranks on him, he was going to kill him.

"Mr. Mizanin is in his room. Would you like me to call him?" said the man.

"No," Punk said. "He's got my room assignment. Can you give me his room number, please?"

"We don't normally…"

Punk sighed. "We work together," he said, "and he's cancelled my room. I'd like to go speak to him."

The clerk scrunched up his nose. "Very well. I'll have Alan show you up." He waved at a burly porter, who came over to see what was going on. "Alan, please show this man to room 1118. Mr. Mizanin should be expecting him?"

"I'm sure he is," Punk said.

"Very well," said Alan. "Come with me."

###

Jericho turned down the familiar streets between the hotel and his house, but the further he went, the less familiar any of it looked. He hadn't been paying attention when they came into town; he'd been deep in thought. But now that he was in the car alone, he saw changes everywhere. He'd only been gone a month, but everything looked wrong. When his house came into view, he sighed with relief. There in front of it was his car. Jessica must have come to the airport and picked it up.

He climbed out of the rental and walked up the front steps, relieved to be home. It was so welcoming, standing on his front porch. Jericho took his key and slid it into the lock. It wouldn't budge. "What the hell?" he muttered, jiggling the key. After a moment, he sighed and pulled the key out, then knocked.

At first, there was no answer. He could hear the TV through the door, so he knew someone was home. Another knock, and finally, the TV shut off and the door was opened by a young woman. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Who are you?" Jericho demanded. "And what are you doing in my house?"

The woman gave him a perplexed look. "I'm sorry?" she said.

Jericho pushed past her. "Jess?" he called.

"Sir," said the woman, alarmed. "You can't come in here!"

"It's my house," Jericho said again. "Where's my wife?"

The woman bit her lip. "If you don't leave, I'm calling the police."

Jericho sighed. "Listen, lady, this is my house and I want to talk to my wife. Jessica? She and I own this house?"

"Jessica?" said the woman. "She's at work. But…" She shook her head. "Hold on, let me call her."

"Yeah, you do that," he said.

The girl picked up the phone, still casting nervous glances at the man while she dialed the phone. "This is Allie. I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but there's a man in your house claiming he's your husband." She paused. "Just a second." Turning to Jericho, she asked, "What's your name?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Jericho demanded. "It's Chris Irvine."

"He says it's Chris Irvine," said the girl into the phone. "Um. Blonde? Tall?" She paused. "Okay, I'll tell him." She hung up the phone and turned to him. "She said wait right here, and she'll be home in a few minutes."

"Thank God," Jericho muttered, settling on the couch. "This is getting ridiculous."

###

Alan knocked on the door of room 1118, casting a glance at Punk. When the door was opened a moment later by an annoyed looking Miz, Alan said, "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Mizanin…"

"Miz, you jerk," Punk said, pushing Alan out of the way. "Did you and Riley cancel my room?"

Miz's jaw dropped. "Um. Punk?"

"Yeah, who else?" Punk demanded. "What the hell is wrong with you? You two are taking the practical jokes way too far. Do you have any idea what I've been through in the last twenty four hours?"

"None," Miz said, still staring.

"Well? Are you going to tell this man that you know me, and you have my room assignment or what?"

"I do know him," Miz said to Alan, "but I don't have his room assignment. I think we need to talk. Why don't you come in?"

Punk glared at Miz, but stepped past him into the room. "Nice place," he muttered, taking a seat in one of the chairs near the bed. "Where's Riley?"

"We're not a team anymore," said Miz absently. "I'm rooming alone this trip." He shut the door and turned to Punk. "So, where have you been all this time?"

"Jericho and I got lost in the desert overnight," Punk said. "Spent the evening with this couple in their creepy little house. It was okay, but not something I'd ever want to do again. When did the venue get changed, and how did you guys keep us from finding out?"

Miz gave him a puzzled look. "The venue's not changed. We've been booked here for six months. Did you say Jericho was with you?"

"Yeah, he went home to pick some things up, and he's going to meet us at the venue tonight."

"Oh, God," Miz said, the color draining from his face. "Punk?"

"What?" Punk asked.

"Um, how long were you and Jericho out in the desert?"

"Overnight," Punk said irritably. "We broke down on the Interstate and then walked to this house… Then we got up the next morning and rented a new car so we could head to Vegas, but no one was there."

Miz sighed. "I have no idea how to tell you this."

"What?" Punk snapped.

"You and Chris have been missing for over two years."

"This joke quit being funny a long time ago, Mizanin," Punk said.

"About twenty five months ago," Miz said. "You'd better call Chris and get him down here before he gets home. He's not going to like what he finds when he gets there."

###

Jericho's cell rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket, looking annoyed. "Not now, Punk. I'll call you back in twenty minutes."

"Chris," Punk said. "I really need to talk to you."

"Twenty minutes," Jericho repeated, and then he hung up the phone and put the ringer on vibrate. "Work," he said to Allie.

"I see," she said, dusting around the TV.

A moment later, a key turned in the lock and Jessica came in, looking more stressed than Jericho had ever seen her. "Allie," she said, "Where…" The words died as she saw Chris. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God. Chris? Is it really you?"

"Of course it's me," said Jericho puzzled. "Who else would it be?"

She took a couple of shaky steps, then nearly collapsed. Jericho jumped up and caught her. "Oh my God," Jessica whispered, tears in her eyes. "Chris. It is you."

He helped his wife to the couch. "Are you all right? What's the matter?"

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said. "I..l… they told me you were dead, that they'd found… remains in the desert…"

"Jessica," he said, frowning, "what are you talking about? I was only in the desert overnight. Punk and I found a place to stay, then headed back on the road."

"Punk. Phil was with you?"

"Yeah. I dropped him at the hotel."

Jessica shook her head. "Chris," she said. "We thought the two of you were dead. The police pulled your rental car off the road, torched and full of bones. We thought… they told us that you'd died. That you and Phil were both gone."

"They made a mistake," Jericho said. "See? I'm fine."

"Then where have you been all this time?" she demanded. "Why didn't you call or come home?"

"I did," he said. "I'm here now. And I tried calling you today, but no one answered."

"I'm not talking about today, Chris. I'm talking about the last two years."

"What?" said Chris with a frown. "Two years? Jessica, I've only been on tour a month."

"No," she sighed, "you haven't. You and Phil have been missing for two years."

"This isn't funny," Jericho said, angry. "Whatever Miz paid you to get you in on his joke, I want it to stop right now." Jessica sighed and stood up, moving to the bookshelf beside the TV. Without a word, she took a photo album and handed it to Jericho. When he opened it, it was full of newspaper articles. "Wrestlers missing," said the first one. "Famous wrestlers presumed dead in the California desert," said the next. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"These are the articles about your disappearance," she said. "And here." She flipped a couple pages. "This is the program from your funeral."


	6. The Dilemma

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

A/N: Swapping between "stage" names and real names is going to drive me nuts, so I'm only doing it sparingly for Punk and to a lesser extent, Jericho. :)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 6: The Dilemma

Jericho stared down at the book in his wife's hands. "This is sick," he whispered. His eyes burned. Jessica pulled the funeral program out and held it out to him, but he ignored it. "Sick."

"Chris?" she said.

He shook his head and took the program with trembling hands. His cell phone buzzed insistently as he stared through blurred eyes at his name on the program. "Punk's name isn't here?"

"That one's from your funeral," Jessica said. "Here." She flipped the page and took out a second program. "This one's from Phil's."

Jericho carefully set the program down and tried to look away, but found that he couldn't. "How could this have happened?" His phone buzzed again, like an angry bee.

"Don't you think you should get that?" Jessica said.

"Huh? Oh." Jericho grabbed the phone. "What?"

"Chris," Punk said, "something is really wrong here."

Jericho laughed. "You're telling me. Did you know we're dead, Punk?"

"Miz may have mentioned it," Punk muttered.

"Yeah. I'll head back to the hotel in a bit. I guess that's going to be one hell of a talk with Vince, huh?"

"Vince retired six months ago," Jessica said.

"What?" Jericho said. "Who's in charge? Stephanie?"

"Shane," she said.

"Shane? He doesn't even work for WWE anymore."

"A lot has changed since you were away."

Punk listened to the exchange between the two, then said, "So I'll have Miz call Shane and we can set something up."

"Okay." Jericho sighed. "What do we do in the meantime?"

"No idea. You go spend some time with your wife, and then we'll figure it out."

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks." He hit the end button, then turned to Jessica. "So…"

Before he got any further than that, the door opened. "Honey? I came as soon as I got your call…" The man paused in the doorway, squinting at Jericho. "Oh my God."

Jericho stood up. "Uh…" He turned to Jessica. "Did Christian just call you honey?"

Jessica cleared her throat. "Chris, maybe you should sit down."

"I don't think I want to. Jess?"

She sighed. "Fine. Yes, he called me honey."

"So I go missing and now you two are dating?"

"Er," Christian said, "no. Not dating."

Jericho stared at his friend. "Then what?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.

Christian looked away. "I'm going to go ahead and get something to drink." He nodded to Jericho and Jessica, then headed into the kitchen.

"What's going on, Jess?"

Jessica sighed. "You're going to hear it sometime. Christian and I aren't dating. We've been married for almost six months."

Jericho sank onto the couch. "Married?" he said. "But you can't be married to him, Jess! You're married to me."

"I thought you were dead!" she said. "What was I supposed to do? Christian was there for me when I needed him, and I love him, Chris. He's been a good stepdad to the kids…"

"Oh, God," Jericho moaned, putting his hands over his face.

Jessica stared at the table. "This is my life now, Chris. There's no going back. You left me…"

"Not on purpose!"

"And I thought you were dead. Christian was there, and you weren't." She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "We just found out a couple of weeks ago that we're going to have a baby."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Jericho said.

%$%

Punk sat at the table in the Miz's hotel room, his head down as he listened to Shane McMahon and Miz cover the surreal list of things that had changed in the company in the last two years. They were midway through a story about a ladder match that ended John Morrison's career when a key slid into the lock and the door opened. Punk looked up to see a hotel employee, followed by Jericho, looking pale and unhappy.

"Chris?"

Jericho wearily took a seat next to Punk. "What the hell did they do to us?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"I take it you've been to your old house?" Shane said.

"It isn't my anything anymore," said Jericho bitterly. "Forget that I'm the one who paid for it. People think you're dead and suddenly, you've got nothing." He turned to Punk. "She married Christian, of all people. Can you believe that crap?"

Punk shook his head. "It does sound far-fetched. Do all of his cats live in your house now?"

"I have no idea," Jericho said. "But they're having a baby."

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Chris."

Jericho glared at him. "Yeah, well. You should be. This is all your fault."

Punk blinked. "How do you figure that?"

"You broke the car." Jericho crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend.

"And you dragged us into that house," Punk said. "They must have drugged us or something. There's no other explanation."

"Maybe we're dead," Jericho said.

"You don't look dead," Miz said.

Shane said, "Of course you're not dead. And don't worry. The company will take care of anything you need until you're back on your feet. Your old jobs are waiting for you. I can call creative and get the two of you a storyline right now, if you'd like."

"Maybe we should take a little time off, to think about it," Punk suggested.

"Time off?" Miz said with a snort. "You guys just had two years off."

"Didn't feel like more than a night," Jericho muttered.

"Whatever you want to do is fine," Shane said. "Just let me know."

Jericho said, "Thanks. I don't know what else to do, though. It's not like I have anywhere to be."

"Well," Punk said, "I'm going to go home. Er, do I still have a home?"

"I don't know," Shane said.

Punk frowned. "I wonder where all my stuff is."

"They probably gave it to your family," Jericho said.

"Great," Punk said. "It's probably all been auctioned off on eBay by now."

"Hey, look," Miz said. "You guys are welcome to my room for tonight. I can share with someone else."

"Thanks, but we don't want to kick you out of your room," Jericho said. "We'll figure something out."

"Let me make some calls," Shane said. He stood up. "I'll get back to the two of you after the show tonight."

Miz turned to Jericho and Punk once Shane was gone. "So what really happened?"

"I told you," Punk said. "We got stuck in the desert."

"Yeah, you told me that," Miz said. "So what? Rehab? I can see it for you, Jericho, but Punk…?"

Punk growled and slammed his hand into the table in frustration. "We weren't in rehab!"

"Then where were you?"

"I don't know," Jericho said thoughtfully. "Maybe we weren't anywhere."

%^%

They rode to the venue with Miz. Backstage, the two of them encountered a lot of pointing and whispering, but very few people approached them. "Lot of new faces," Jericho observed to Punk in catering.

"If we were really gone for two years, don't you think we'd have missed this?"

"I don't know," Jericho said. "It doesn't feel the same as before."

"That's because half of these guys are people I've never seen before. Where did they come from?"

"I've been thinking all day that this has to be some kind of a joke, but it can't be. It's too elaborate."

Punk watched some new guy hit on a diva he didn't know. "It does seem like the cast is much too big for that. So what do we do, Chris? How do we fix it?"

"There is no fixing it," Jericho said. "Although I guess we could go back to the desert and talk to Herb and Martha. Maybe they know what happened?"

Punk turned to his companion. "No," he said. "We're leaving them out of this."

"But they might know something."

"That's exactly my point. Do you think this happened by accident, Chris? We got sucked into some kind of… I don't know. A wormhole? Another dimension? Something. And those people probably had something to do with it. No way am I going back there."

"But what if they could fix it? Put us back in time?"

"This isn't a movie," Punk said. "Time only flows forward. There's no rewind button on your life."

"Then what do we do?"

"Honestly? I guess we find our place in this world and we do our best to fit in."

"My wife is married to someone else," Jericho said through gritted teeth, "and she's having his baby. I don't HAVE a place in this world, Punk, and neither do you. Everyone we know has mourned us and moved on with their lives. We've been gone for two years. People barely remember us."

"Tell that to the lady on the plane," Punk said with a smirk.

Jericho sighed. "What's left?"

"Shane said we could come back to the WWE."

"And what? Be a novelty act? See the amazing back from the dead Punk and Jericho? Or will people think it was all a hoax and like the Miz suggested, think that we've been in rehab?"

"For two years?" Punk said. "What were we addicted to, heroin?"

"What other explanation is there? Because no one is going to buy the truth."

Punk stared at the table. "So what are you suggesting? That we not go back to wrestling? What would we do?"

"I don't know." Jericho ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Maybe we should move to another country and pretend to be someone else?"

"Great… except that I've got no money." He frowned. "Hey, wait a minute. My credit card worked fine earlier. I guess I've got something in my account still."

"Good," Jericho said. "We may need it."

"Why don't we stay put for now and see what Shane has to say after the show tonight?" Punk said. "After all, we're both still able to work. Creative might be able to spin a storyline that makes sense."

Jericho snorted. "They'll probably come up with a story about space aliens or something."

"That makes about as much sense as the truth does," Punk said. "Maybe more." He seemed to think it over. "And it beats the rehab story that everyone else seems to come up with."

"Only you would think space aliens were preferable to drug addiction."

"Hey! That's not true. I'm sure if we asked the audience, a lot of them would prefer to be abducted by aliens to being addicted to drugs."

"If we poll the audience, then they'll have no doubt which one happened to us, and it won't be the aliens."

Punk sighed. "This is going to ruin my reputation."

"Look on the bright side. Since we're dead, your reputation became a legacy. Those are much harder to ruin."

"Only because most people aren't alive to ruin theirs. We are."

Jericho watched Shane cross the room, headed toward them. "Not yet. Technically, we're still dead to the world."


	7. The Deal

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 7 : The Deal

"Have you thought about what I said?" Shane asked, seating himself next to Punk.

"We've been talking about it," Jericho said. "And I think we need a little more time. Well," he amended, "I do. I can't answer for Punk."

Punk was staring down at the table, a thoughtful look on his face. "What if we just work house shows for a while?"

"And what? Wear masks?" Jericho asked. "I know you did it for weeks, but it's not something I want to do."

"Why would we wear masks?" Punk asked, puzzled.

"Because otherwise, people are going to know it's us."

"Unless I'm wrestling in pretty heavy gear, they're going to know it's me, mask or not," Punk retorted.

"Why house shows?" Shane asked.

"Because they're not broadcast, of course," Punk said. "That way, we won't be seen so much."

"And you don't think someone will take to the internet and post that we were at house shows? That the fans won't take pictures?" Jericho shook his head. "It's all or nothing. Either we play televised shows and give the fans what they want, or we don't play any and we continue to not exist for them."

"We'd still have the legacies," Punk said. "But be effectively dead."

"Yeah." Jericho turned to Shane. "So what's the going rate for a pair of ghosts who will make you millions?"

"You know at first, people are going to think we're being disrespectful and that we've hired some look-alikes."

"Maybe you should let them think that," Jericho said.

"They'll hate us!" Shane said. "We may not have been above pulling stunts like that when my dad was in charge, but no way am I going to do it. I'm already being scrutinized every step of the way as it is."

"Then what do you suggest?" Jericho asked. "Any way we come back, you're going to get some haters who were either glad we died or who think it was all a scam, or that we're fakes. You're not going to be able to avoid that if we start wrestling again."

"But what are we going to do if we don't wrestle?" Punk asked. "This is my life, guys. This is the only thing I know how to do. I'm not going to be happy bagging groceries or sitting in an office somewhere. I want to wrestle. There's nothing else for me."

"What about retiring?" Jericho asked.

"Sure," Punk said, "when I've got another ten, twenty years easy I can give the business? I always said I'd rather die in the ring than quit when I'm young."

"Instead, they think we died outside of it," Jericho pointed out. "There's nothing left to lose, Punk."

"That means that there's everything to gain, then," Punk said. He turned to Shane. "I don't know what Jericho's going to decide, but I want to come back and wrestle again. I don't care how you spin it. Tell people it was rehab or aliens or we're back from the dead. I don't care. I just want to be in the ring."

Jericho sighed. "I suppose if Punk's in, then I'm in, too. We're in this together."

"You're sure?" Shane asked. "This is what you want?"

Punk cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said, glancing at Jericho, who nodded. "This is what we want."

"Okay," Shane said, exhaling. "I'll get with creative tonight and we'll see what we can come up with. In the meantime, I'll make sure you guys have rooms booked at all the hotels from here on out."

"Thank you," Punk said.

Shane stood and shook both of their hands. "See you later."

When he was gone, Punk turned back to Jericho. "You didn't have to do that, you know. You could have walked away."

"What? And leave all this?" Jericho said, waving a hand at catering. He smirked. "Besides, where am I going to go? I don't have a home anymore and the only person in the world who knows what I'm going through is you. You're my new best friend, Punk." He paused. "Especially since my old best friend is now married to my wife."

^%^

They tagged along with Miz after the evening ended. Despite their protests, Miz moved to a different room and let Punk and Jericho have his room. When the two of them were alone again, Punk settled on his bed with a sigh. "Have you thought at all about what must have really happened to us out there?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we were gone for two years, Chris. Obviously, we were somewhere. Maybe we were wandering the desert all that time."

"What, like Moses?" Jericho asked. "I don't think so, Punk."

"So then where were we?" Punk asked, sitting up. "I know you don't want to think about it, but what if that farmhouse was a spaceship, and we traveled into the future or maybe we just went light years away without knowing it."

"Overnight?"

"I've got insomnia, Chris," Punk said. "Have for years. Even taking something for it doesn't always let me sleep. But I know that I slept there, and that it was the best sleep I've gotten in probably my entire life. One night of sleep shouldn't have made me feel so rested, especially after how tired I was when we got there. I'd been awake for hours on Pepsi and sugar. You can't tell me that you think any of this is normal."

"Of course it's not normal!" Jericho snapped. "We lost two years of our lives! But I don't know where they went. Did we sleep two years away at Herb and Martha's? Maybe, but don't you think that our muscles would have atrophied? We'd barely be able to stand, never mind doing anything else. And we'd be covered in hair."

"Unless they shaved us."

"That's just weird, Punk." Jericho sat on his bed. "Look, I don't know where we were, but now we're back. So maybe we can focus on that now?"

"Sure," Punk said. "Except nothing's the same, and I have no idea where to start concentrating on it."

Jericho ran a hand through his hair. "Me either. Too bad we didn't get Herb and Martha's last name so we could call them."

"No phone, remember?" Punk said. "Besides, it's not like we don't know where they live. We could probably find it again. And they did invite us back any time."

"But if they're the reason we lost that time…"

"And that seems like a logical conclusion to me," Punk said.

"Then why would we go back?"

"Answers," said Punk with a shrug.

"Great, except I'm not even sure what the questions are yet."

"We could start with, 'What did you do to us?'"

Jericho sighed in resignation. "Maybe we should just sleep and think about it tomorrow."

"Why? It's going to be two years after we disappeared, same as today was."

"Yeah, but by then, maybe I'll be more able to handle it."

"I somehow doubt sleep is going to make that much of a difference," Punk said.

"Says the guy who woke up two years later the one time he falls asleep," Jericho said.

Punk groaned. "Don't remind me. All right, Chris. Go to sleep. Who knows? Maybe things will look better in the morning."

^%^

Punk didn't sleep. He couldn't. His mind kept pushing back to the night they'd spent at Herb and Martha's, and all he could think about was that they were the key to solving this mystery. But he didn't want to go back. Sure, they'd been nice to him and Jericho, fed them and gave them a place to sleep. But they might also have kidnapped them and kept them hostage for the last two years. How do you balance that out against a meal or two and some sleep?

He heard Jericho shift in his bed, but the other man's voice still startled him. "Can't sleep either, huh?"

Punk chuckled. "Too afraid to close my eyes."

Jericho sighed. "Well, since neither of us can sleep, maybe we should head over to the gym."

"Good idea. But I need some Pepsi first."

They got out of their respective beds and threw on exercise clothes, which consisted of old ring shirts and shorts for both men. "Any idea where we should go?"

"Hey, it's your city," Punk said.

"Not anymore." Jericho shook his head. "I guess we could see if the 24 hour fitness is still near my house."

"Good idea. Although we may have to get memberships again."

"You'll have to buy until I can get some money from Shane."

Punk shrugged. "Sounds fine to me. Though I have no idea how much could possibly be left in my bank account after all these years."

"We can stop in the lobby. I saw an ATM."

"Yeah, good thinking. I think they had a Pepsi machine, too."

They left their room and headed for the elevator. "You know, this is really weird."

"What is?"

"The two of us, being the only ones in the world who have had this happen."

"Maybe we're not," Punk said, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, Herb and Martha said they don't always invite everyone back. That tells me that people have come to their house before. And…" He nibbled his lip ring.

"What?"

"Don't you remember what they said when we showed up? Herb mentioned to Martha that we were wrestlers, and then he said something about Toby and Jim."

"That's right," Jericho said, snapping his fingers. "I didn't think much of it at the time, because we weren't in the Twilight Zone yet, but now that you mention it, they did say something about people named Toby and Jim. And they didn't just mention them once, either. I figured those must be their sons or something, but what if they weren't? What if Toby and Jim were just like us?"

Punk shivered. "Who are these people?" he muttered.

"I don't know," Jericho said. "That's what worries me."


	8. The Lead

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 8: The Lead

About the time most of the Superstars were waking up and planning their day, Punk and Jericho were sitting in a coffee shop down the road from their hotel, deep in a conversation. "How do you propose we find Toby and Jim?" Jericho asked, for what seemed like the tenth time.

"I don't know." Punk's frustrated answer was the same as it had been all morning. "But aside from going back to see Herb and Martha, it's the only lead we have. We have to figure this out, or we have to forget about it and move on with our lives."

Jericho sighed. "Maybe we ought to try that, because these two guys are like ghosts at this point. We're never going to find them if all we have to go on are first names. If we knew a last name, maybe…"

Punk frowned. "What about an address?"

"Where are you going to get an address?" Jericho said.

"How many houses do you think there are out in the middle of nowhere on Zzyzx Road?"

"I didn't see any other than Herb and Martha's place."

"Exactly." Punk leaned across the table. "So we can look it up. Maybe we have to make a few phone calls or something, but someone's got to know something. And if we can track down the house number, then maybe we can track down information on who owns it."

"Good point. We're going to need a computer."

Punk stared thoughtfully out the window for a long moment. "The library probably has one. Or maybe there's an internet café?"

"Or," Jericho said, casually, "We could ask around and see if someone we work with has a laptop we can borrow. Shane said he'd get us whatever we needed."

Punk smiled. "Yeah. A laptop doesn't seem like much to ask. Okay, Chris. Go ahead and call him."

Jericho pulled out his cell phone. "You know, I have no idea why this thing is still working. You'd think Jessica would have turned it off, especially after…" He shook his head and pulled up the number Shane had given him. "It's ringing," he informed his companion.

Punk nodded and looked around the room. The two of them were getting odd looks from some of the patrons. He wondered if any of them were fans, then shrugged the thought off as he listened to Jericho's side of the conversation.

"An hour?" Jericho said, brow furrowed. "Sure, we can do that. See you then. Uh huh. Bye." He hung up and turned back to Punk.

"What was that all about?" the Straightedge Superstar asked.

"Shane wants us to meet him in an hour at his room."

"Any idea why?"

"No, but he said he'll have the laptop for us then."

"Good," Punk said, taking a sip of his Pepsi. "What do we do in the meantime?"

Jericho shrugged. "Make plans?"

"Great. What kind of plans?"

"What we're going to do if this doesn't work out."

"This?" Punk said. "You mean if we can't figure out who Herb and Martha really are?" Jericho nodded. "Oh. Well, what can we do? I guess we'll go on with our lives."

"We don't have lives anymore."

"Maybe not as such," Punk agreed, "but that doesn't mean that we can't go back to wrestling and try to make it work. It won't be the same…"

"Unfortunately," said Jericho bitterly.

"…but it's still the job that we both love, and we can still do it, two years away or not."

"So if we can't figure out who they are, we go on like nothing happened? Just go back to wrestling and pretend that we weren't abducted and lost two years of our lives?"

"What choice do we have, Chris?"

"If looking them up online doesn't tell us anything, then I'm going back."

"You're going back?" Punk asked in disbelief. "What if you lose another two years?"

"Then I do. But at least I'll have some answers."

"You can't do that. You can't go back alone and hope that it means that you don't lose more time."

"If we can't find the information any other way, I don't see that I'll have a choice."

Punk sighed. "Then I'll go back with you."

"You don't have to."

"Look, it's not like it's going to disrupt my whole life. I'm not losing my wife and kids." Jericho grimaced. "Sorry, but it's true. If I leave again, no one's likely to miss me. My family already thinks I'm dead, and I'm fine with that."

"Fine," Jericho sighed. "If we have to go back, we'll go together. Okay?"

Punk nodded. "Besides," he said, "if we end up going again, at least I know I'll get some sleep."

^%^

They arrived at Shane's room ten minutes early. He opened the door and waved them in while he spoke on his cell phone. "Yes," he was saying, "I'm aware of the concept. However, I don't think it's the right time for it. Look, Jim, I've got to go. I've got an appointment." He waved Punk and Jericho to the chairs next to the table, then hung the phone up. "Sorry. That was Jim in legal. He's suggesting that I whip contracts out and resign you guys right now. I told him it's not the right time." Shane took the third seat at the table, then looked over at the two of them. "So, gentlemen…"

"The laptop?" Jericho said.

"Of course," Shane reached under the table and pulled up a brand new, still in the box laptop, which he pushed across the table at them. "I'd still love to know where you two have been all this time."

"We'd love to know, too," Punk said, as he watched Jericho boot up the laptop. The Windows install screen came up. "That's going to be a while, Chris."

"I suppose," the Canadian said. He turned his attention to Shane. "We think it must have been a time warp."

"You're joking, right?" Shane asked. "Look, guys, I'm all for having a storyline for the marks. They're all going to think you were in rehab, anyway. But seriously, where were you?"

"We don't know," Punk said.

"You were under contract with this company, and some people might think that you broke your contracts. They would be less likely to offer you anything. I think my offers have been generous." Shane leaned forward. "More than generous."

"They have been," Jericho said. "But the fact remains that we have no idea where we've been. It doesn't feel like more than two days to us, but you say we've lost two years. We'd like to know where they went, too, but we don't."

Shane sat back, a frown on his face. "So you're going to persist with that story?"

"We have to," Punk said, "since it's the truth."

"No one is going to believe it," Shane said.

"We wouldn't expect them to," said Jericho. "We lived it, and we don't believe it." He indicated the laptop. "We're hoping we can get some information from this laptop so we can find out where we really were. But it's going to take time. We probably won't know anything today."

"And what if you can't figure anything out with the laptop?" Shane asked.

"Then," Jericho said, "I guess we can either let it go or we can pursue it until we find an answer, one way or another."

^%^

They left Shane's room with the laptop some twenty minutes later. Windows was still installing, so Jericho carried the laptop carefully balanced on his arms, open and let Punk lead the way to the room. Once there, he set it carefully on the table and settled in a chair to keep an eye on it. "This is taking forever. Next time, we ask for a set up laptop instead of a new one."

Punk grinned. "I find it funny that you think there will be a next time."

Jericho said, "I'm glad you're amused. Ah, here we go." He pulled the laptop closer on the table and pulled up the browser. "What do you think? Mapquest?"

"Why don't you Google Zzyzx Road and see what happens?"

After tapping the keys and hitting enter, Jericho frowned and looked up at Punk. "Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

"Well, nothing interesting, anyway. There are a couple of Wikis and a Yelp with reviews…"

"Try that," Punk suggested.

Jericho shrugged and clicked on the Yelp reviews. "These are mostly useless. 'A review of a road sign.' 'Nothing but dirt.' Wait." He leaned closer. "Punk, look at this one."

Punk leaned over so he could see what Jericho was pointing to. "'It was dark when I went. My car broke down. If you go, say hello to H & M for me.' Wow. That sounds like we could have written it."

"And look, there's a name. Toby G. You don't suppose…?"

Jericho clicked on the name. "The rest of these reviews are over a small area in Washington state. Maybe if we can figure out how to trace them back, we can find Toby and see what he knows about Herb and Martha."

"Look, it says a town name right there," Punk said. He pointed to the spot on the screen. "So we have a first name and a town. Now what?"

"I don't know," Jericho said. "We could call around, but how many Tobys are likely to live in that town?"

Punk said, "Okay. You're right. Maybe we ought to fly out there and look. Someone's bound to know something. Especially if someone went missing from there for a couple of years."

"But what if this Toby is the same one Herb and Martha talked about? Would he go missing for two years, or maybe he didn't move out to this town until after he'd already left home."

"I don't know."

Jericho sighed. "I guess we're going to have to book a flight and see if we can't get to the bottom of this."

"What if it's not the same Toby?"

"Well, he mentioned Herb and Martha, so even if he's not the same one they talked about, he knows something, right?"

"I suppose."

"Anyway, it's worth a shot if it helps us solve this mystery and know what happened to us over that two years, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Punk sighed. "I suppose it is."


	9. The Flight

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 9: The Flight

Since they didn't have to be at the next venue, Jericho and Punk opted to follow their lead instead. "I can't believe we're flying to Washington in the hopes that we can find a guy named Toby in a small town," Punk grumbled. "And I can't believe you're making me wear this hat." The hat in question was baseball cap from the Florida team, the Marlins. "You couldn't have found me a Chicago Cubs hat?"

Jericho pulled his own Marlins hat down closer to his eyes. "Yes, I could have, but we're trying to blend in."

"By supporting a crappy team?"

Jericho eyed his friend. "It's only for a few hours. Do you really want someone else to tell you you're not doing CM Punk right?"

Punk sighed. "No."

"Then wear the hat and be quiet. You can take it off once we're off the plane."

"It's a long flight!" Punk protested.

"Yes, it is. Especially if you're going to complain through the whole thing."

Punk grumbled and slid the earbuds on his new MP3 player into his ears. "Fine. But I'm taking it off as soon as we're on the ground."

"Deal," Jericho said.

The two of them waited for the plane to board, Punk with his hat down low over his eyes and his music blaring and Jericho sitting casually beside him, his eyes scanning the people who walked past. Everyone seemed to ignore them. When the boarding call finally came, Jericho tapped Punk's shoulder, causing the Straightedge superstar to jerk sideways, then glare at his companion. "What?"

"Don't be surly," Jericho said. "We're boarding."

"Oh. Thanks."

They didn't have much in the way of luggage: two small packs that had a change of clothes. Punk stowed his MP3 player in his, then stood, following his friend to the line for the plane. Jericho handed over the boarding passes. "Have a nice flight," said the girl at the counter, smiling.

"We will," Jericho said.

"Thanks," Punk muttered. Down the gangway and onto the plane they went. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," Punk said.

"We don't have much of a choice," Jericho said.

Punk shrugged. "We could pretend it never happened."

"Not really an option in my case."

"Right. Sorry."

"Here's the seats."

Punk sighed and dropped into the one closest to the window. Jericho took the one in the middle, and they waited to see who would grab the aisle seat. "Do you think this Toby guy will know anything?"

"I hope so," Jericho said.

They watched the rest of the plane board quietly, until the flight attendant, looking harried, walked down to their seat with a young lady following. "Right here, missy," said the flight attendant. "And don't you move until after we're in the air."

The girl glared at the attendant, then dropped into the seat, her arms crossed and a stubborn expression on her face. "It wasn't my fault," she grumbled.

The two superstars exchanged a glance. Punk leaned over. "What wasn't?" he asked, as the flight attendant stomped away.

The girl shifted her glare to Punk, then shook her head and settled back in the seat. "The Marlins suck."

"I know," Punk sighed. "The hat is my friend's idea of a joke." He nudged Jericho.

"It's not funny," the girl said. "It makes you look like a tool."

"Then it is funny," Jericho said.

The girl snorted. "Whatever."

Punk shrugged and sat back in his seat. By now, the flight attendants were doing the "in case of emergency" dance. "Wouldn't that solve everything?" he asked Jericho softly. "Then we'd be a weird footnote and not a problem anymore."

"No," Jericho said, shooting his friend a warning look.

The girl, however, was leaning forward now so she could squint at Punk. The hat hid his hair, which was still pretty short. "You look kind of familiar."

"I get that a lot," Punk said. "But it's okay, because I'm not who you think I am."

"Oh? And who do I think you are?"

"I don't know, but whoever it is, I'm not him."

"Okay then," the girl said, smirking. "What about your friend? Is he also not who I think he is? Because he looks familiar, too. In fact…" She frowned and stared hard at Jericho. "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

"I doubt it," Jericho said.

"Hmm," the girl said. "I'm going to figure it out, you know."

"I'm sure you will," Jericho muttered.

The girl tapped her lip thoughtfully. "Well, you're obviously not male models. You aren't pretty enough."

"Thanks a lot," Jericho said sourly.

"Trust me, that was a compliment," she said. "I'm Sarah."

"Chris," Jericho said. "And this is Pu—er…" He looked at Punk.

"Phil," Punk said with a sigh.

"Right. Phil."

"Not even sure what your friend's name is, huh?" Sarah said. "Maybe you ought to stop drinking now."

"Maybe I ought to start," Jericho said. "As soon as we're in the air."

"What about you, Phil? You look like a hard drinker."

Jericho laughed, which earned him a glare from Punk. "Actually, I don't drink. At all. Ever."

"Mm." The girl shrugged. "Coulda fooled me."

"Trust me, kid. I've known Phil a long time, and I've never seen him drink. He's morally against it."

"Oh, so it's like that, huh?" Sarah said.

"So what did you do to make that flight attendant so mad, anyway?" Punk asked.

"I didn't do anything," Sarah said.

"Fine. What is it you didn't do, then?"

The girl smirked. "Well, I may have slipped out the back entrance to the restroom and been headed for the door when security grabbed me."

"Okay…?" Punk said. Sarah held up the little card they'd pinned to her shirt. It said, "Unaccompanied minor." "Oh."

"Yeah. They don't take too kindly to that, apparently."

"I can't imagine why not."

"So why did you do it?" Jericho asked.

The girl bit her lip. "It's a long, boring story. I'm sure you don't want to hear it and I certainly don't want to tell it."

"Fair enough," Punk said. While they'd been talking, the plane had taxied down the runway and was now preparing to take off. Sarah closed her eyes and gripped the seat's handles. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just hate to fly, that's all."

"Me too," Punk admitted. "I'd so much rather drive."

"Seriously?" Jericho said, blinking at his friend.

"Yeah."

"Funny, you never mentioned that before."

"Wouldn't have changed anything, would it?" Punk asked. "We're still required to fly sometimes."

Jericho shrugged. "I'd have thought after the desert, driving would lose some of its appeal. At least in the air, we know we're not going to lose two years."

Sarah said in a tight voice, "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Jericho said quickly. "Do you want to hold my hand or something?"

"Dude. That's weird and creepy." She cracked an eye open and managed a weak smile. "Thanks for offering, though."

"Sure," Jericho muttered.

"I'll be fine once we even out." She took a deep breath. "And they wondered why I tried to slip out. Flying sucks."

"I thought you said you didn't do it," Punk said.

"Shut up, Phil," Sarah said, her eyes still squeezed tightly shut. "This isn't the time."

"Sorry," Punk said. He sighed and leaned against the seat, closing his eyes as well.

Once the plane finished rising and more or less evened out, the girl exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. "We're not dead, right?"

"I'm still asking myself that one," Punk muttered.

"Huh?" Sarah said.

"Nothing." Punk smiled. "So you going to be all right?"

"At least until landing, yeah." She studied the two of them again. "So why are you going to Portland?"

"We're not," Jericho said.

"Really? Then I've got some bad news for you, because that's where this plane is headed."

"I meant that's not where we're staying."

"Oh. Well, me either. My dad lives up north. He's supposed to meet me at the airport and pick me up off the plane. It's like he thinks I'm six or something."

"And how old are you?" Punk asked.

"Sixteen," Sarah said. "Seventeen in a couple of weeks. But the stupid airline is still treating me like a child and I hate it."

"Well, you did try to run," Jericho said.

"Only because I wanted a moment of peace. For pity's sake, they had someone follow me into the bathroom! She practically followed me into the stall. How am I supposed to cope with that going on?"

"I don't know," Jericho said. "What are you coping with?"

"What am I not coping with?" she answered. "Does it really matter, anyway? I just wanted to be alone for a few minutes. I'd have come back well before the plane left."

"Uh huh," Punk said. He dug through his bag and grabbed his MP3 player. "Well, nice talking to you." And then he put the earbuds in his ears.

Sarah frowned. "Your friend is a bit rude, isn't he?"

Jericho chuckled. "Sometimes. But I think he's like you. He's got a lot on his mind, and right now, he just wants to process it."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"It's not really my place to say, is it?" Jericho asked. "It's work stuff, mostly."

"Oh. Boring crap." She stretched out in her seat. "What about you? Are you going to talk to me, or am I going to have to watch whatever the awful movie is?"

Jericho tilted his head. "I would have thought you'd have your own MP3 and be glad to block out us old people."

"Please. If I'd been able to do that, I wouldn't have run from the flight attendant."

"So you did run," Phil said. "I knew it."

Sarah glared at the straightedge superstar. "Hi, stop being rude. First you ignore me, and now you're butting in on my conversation?"

Punk grinned. "It was between songs. It's not anymore."

"Punk," Jericho said, his tone a warning.

Sarah frowned. "Well, yeah, he's rude and all, but it's hardly worth calling him names."

Punk smirked and pulled the earbuds out. "Yeah, don't call me names, Chris."

"Sorry, Phil," Jericho said, glaring at his companion.

Sarah continued to frown, her gaze flitting between the two men. "I swear, there's something…" She shook her head. "Anyway, I'm sure whatever it is, I'll remember it tonight, when I'm in bed or something, about to go to sleep. Whatever it is, it'll probably keep me up half the night."

"I'd love to see how that all works out for you," Punk said. "Unfortunately, we'll be off dealing with something else. So good luck with that."

"Gee thanks," Sarah muttered. "So what's on that MP3 player of yours, anyway? Anything good?"

"No," Punk said. "It's all terrible, boring grown up stuff. That's why I'm listening to it."

"And it hasn't taught you how to be a grown up yet?" said the girl. "That's very sad."

"She got you there, Phil," Jericho said with a grin.

Punk glared at his friend. "Shut up." He sighed and turned to Sarah. "It's mostly punk. Probably not something you'd like."

"Oh, so he was calling you punk because you listen to punk?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Sarah nodded. "It's a better name than Phil, anyway."

"You're telling me," Punk said.


	10. The Landing

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 10: The Landing

Punk was relieved when the plane's PA came to life and announced that they would be landing in Portland in the next fifteen minutes or so. He started to gather his things, his gaze falling momentarily on the girl, who had somehow managed to commandeer his MP3 player. "You want me to get it back for you?" Jericho asked.

"No," said Punk glumly. "She may as well keep it. I'm not going to need it for the next few days, anyway."

"Okay," said Jericho with a shrug. The plane banked sharply, causing the girl to gasp and renew her death grip on the armrest. Jericho tapped her, making her jump. She used one hand to yank out the earbuds. "You going to be all right, Sarah?"

"I'll be fine, as soon as we're on the ground. God, I hate flying!"

"Really?" said Punk. "We couldn't tell."

"Shut it, Phil," the girl grumbled.

"Such a sweet girl," Punk said to Jericho.

"Yes, she is," Jericho said, grinning. "Do you want us to walk with you off the plane, Sarah?"

"I'll be fine," she said again. "My dad's supposed to meet me at the gate. No one's going to bother me once we're on the ground. Although that flight attendant has been shooting me dirty looks this whole flight."

"Well, you did almost delay the plane," said Punk.

Sarah made a face at him and turned back to Jericho. "You know, Phil does sort of grow on you after awhile, doesn't he? I mean, he's kind of a jerk…"

"Hey!" Punk said.

"…but it's more like when you have a cranky neighbor who's really kind of sweet underneath."

Jericho laughed. "She's got your number, Phil."

Punk grumbled. "Children should be seen and not heard."

"Funny, I have an aunt that says the same thing. She's way more cranky than you, though." The plane shifted again and Sarah's grip on the armrest tightened again. "Damn it, I hate this."

"You probably shouldn't cuss," said Jericho. Sarah shot him a glare. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's the dad in me. We should be on the ground soon."

"Thank God!" She turned off the MP3 player and held it out to Punk.

"Go ahead and keep it," he said.

"Seriously?" Sarah asked. "This is way too nice a player to be giving away to some girl on a plane."

"I'm not going to need it," Punk said.

"Thanks." She tucked the player into her pocket. "You're okay, Phil. Though your taste in music is a little dated."

"What?" Punk said.

"Come on! None of these songs are new. They all came out ages ago. And you like Punk, but you don't have any Spinning Monkeys? What is that all about?"

"Who?" asked Punk blankly.

Sarah appraised him. "You don't know who the Spinning Monkeys are? Where have you BEEN? They're only like the best Punk band ever!"

"Good question," Punk muttered. "When did they first hit the scene?"

"You even talk like an old person," Sarah sighed. "But they've been around probably a year and a half. Why?"

"We've been out of the country for the last two years," Jericho said. "So we've missed a lot."

"Oh. Huh." The girl leaned over and rummaged through her bag. After a moment, she pulled out a CD, which she held out to Punk. "Here."

"What is it?"

"A CD?"

"I know that," said Punk, annoyed. "I mean, what's on it?"

"I put it together to play in the car on my way back to my dad's," she said with a shrug. "There's some Spinning Monkeys on it. Track two and… um, I think six? Anyway, you can keep it, since I can hook your MP3 player up to the car stereo instead."

"Thanks," Punk said, taking the CD.

"Sure. And just so you know, your taste in music is pretty good, if a bit classical and outdated. But you listen to that CD and you'll be back on track in no time."

Punk slid the CD into his bag. "I'll be sure to remember that."

The plane tilted sharply, making Sarah close her eyes tightly. "Oh God."

"It'll be okay," Jericho said soothingly. "Just a few more minutes and we'll be on the ground."

"As a crushed wreckage," Sarah muttered.

"Come on," Jericho said. "You're fine. We're going to be touching down in a second." The plane bumped, causing the girl to squeak. "No big deal, Sarah. It's just the landing gear coming out. I can see the airport from here."

Sarah moved her grip from the armrest to Jericho's arm, causing the man to wince. Her eyes were huge and luminous. "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to." He patted her hand. "I promise, you're going to be fine. The wheels should be touching the ground any moment now." He paused, then nodded as the wheels found the runway. "Now it's going to be loud, but it's okay." The afterburners kicked in, causing the girl to wince and her grip to tighten. The plane slowed and finally came to a stop. "See? No big deal."

The intercom crackled to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Portland," the captain said.

"You can let go now," Jericho told Sarah.

Sheepishly, the girl removed her death grip from his arm. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "Flying can be scary. Especially if you're not used to doing it."

The plane taxied to the gate, and Jericho and Punk gathered their things. "Maybe it'd be okay if you walked out with me after all," Sarah said after a moment. "You know, because we're friends and all. Not because I need you to."

"Sure," Jericho said. "It's been an interesting trip, thanks to you."

Sarah smiled. "Thank you, I think."

"Oh, Chris likes interesting trips," Punk said. "He likes having things to talk about and ponder over."

Jericho shot Punk a look. "We're on the ground now," he said. "You can take off the hat."

"Wonderful," Punk said, watching the people file out of the plane. "But you know, maybe a little bit longer wouldn't hurt. Just until we're past… everybody."

"You guys are the weirdest missionaries or whatever I've ever heard of."

"Missionaries?" Punk said, puzzled.

"Well, you did say you were out of the country for a couple of years and you're completely out of the music scene. To me, that screams missionaries."

"Right," Jericho said, frowning. "That makes sense."

"So are you not missionaries?"

"We're… kind of missionaries?" Punk said. "But not exactly. It's more like the Peace Corps or something."

"You look too old for the Peace Corps," Sarah pointed out.

"He doesn't sleep well," Jericho said. "And building churches and homes in other countries can age you considerably. Especially if there's no running water or indoor plumbing."

"Huh. Point taken," Sarah said.

By now, the plane was clear. "Shall we?" Jericho asked, indicating the aisle. "After all, I'm sure you're anxious to be home and I know we're anxious to tie up our business here so we can go back where we belong."

"Where is that?" Sarah asked.

Jericho smiled, a little sadly. "I don't know any more," he said. "But maybe we can figure it out while we're here." 

^%^

Sarah's father was waiting at the gate, his expression anxious. When she stepped off the gangway, he went from nervous to annoyed. "Sarah," he said, "I was starting to think you didn't make the plane again."

"Sorry, dad," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I got into a conversation with my seatmates and we kind of ended up waiting until everyone else was off. I hate fighting the crowds anyway."

"Well, at least you're safe," said Sarah's father. "And you were her seatmates?"

"She's a good kid," Jericho said.

"Just a bit sassy," Punk added, smirking at the girl.

"Whatever, Phil," Sarah said, smirking back.

"Sarah!" Her father looked horrified. "Please excuse my daughter, Mr…." He paused, squinting at Punk. "I'm sorry, but you look familiar. Do I know you?"

"It's doubtful," Punk said. "We're just visiting someone and we're not from around here."

"Plus we've been out of the country for the last two years," Jericho added.

"Still, you look very familiar. Both of you. What did you say your last name was?"

"Uh, I didn't. But it's Brooks," Punk said.

"I see." The man mused on that a moment, then shook off the thought. "Well, anyway, thank you so much for keeping an eye on Sarah. She's not much for flying…"

Jericho chuckled. "I'll say. She almost took my arm off when we were landing."

"That sounds about right," her father agreed. "Anyway, Sarah, we'd better get going. Dahlia was starting dinner when I left. It's going to be a good one tonight."

"All right," Sarah sighed. "Thanks. Chris, Phil. It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Jericho said, smiling at the girl. "Thanks for the interesting conversation and the CD."

She grinned. "Make sure you listen to it!"

"We will, as soon as we get a rental car," Jericho promised. "Come on, Phil. We'd better get going, too. I have no idea how long they'll hold our rental for us, and we still need to find ourselves a map and a hotel."

"Of course," Punk grumbled, readjusting his hat on his head. "See you around, kid," he told Sarah before he and Jericho walked off.

"I swear I know them from somewhere," her father muttered.

"I know, right?" Sarah said. "I spent the entire plane ride trying to figure it out, but I still don't know who they are. I'm sure it'll come to me in the middle of the night or something."

Punk sighed as they walked away. "I'm glad that's over," he muttered.

"I liked Sarah."

"Me too, but I swear, I kept thinking she was going to clue in on who we are."

Jericho shrugged. "What are the odds that a teenage girl like her watches WWE? Or that she watched it two years ago, anyway?"

"They're never in our favor when you say crap like that."

Jericho chuckled. "Come on, sourpuss. The car rental is this way. I'd like to make it to that town tonight and find us a hotel."

"And once we're in the car, the hat comes off," Punk said. "Because somehow, I think taking it off here is a risk."

"Aren't you the same guy who complained about the hat in Florida?"

"I did, but now I see your point. Someone's going to recognize us, Chris. It's only a matter of time."

"I know, Punk," said Jericho with a sigh. "But there's nothing we can do about it, short of wearing ski masks everywhere we go, and somehow, I think that will get us noticed even quicker than us looking like dead celebrities."

"Being dead celebrities, you mean."

"I don't feel dead," Jericho said.

"Good. Because trying to do this with a dead guy's help doesn't sound like fun to me."


	11. The Search

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 11: The Search

The rental car lady was very nice, although she kept squinting at them with a puzzled smile. She didn't ask if she knew them, however, so Punk counted it as a win. With directions to the town and a map, they finally thanked her and went to get their car. Jericho pulled his hat off right away and set it down behind his seat. Punk waited until they were on the road, and then held his in his lap, twisting the brim. "Do you think he's going to help us?"

"Who? Toby?"

Yeah."

"I don't know," Jericho admitted. "But that review of his seems weird if he's not interested in people coming to see him."

They were quiet. "I'm going to put this CD that Sarah gave us in now," Punk said finally.

"Why not?" Jericho agreed.

Punk slid the CD into the player and the music that blasted out of the speakers was so loud and startling that Jericho swerved, almost sideswiping the person in the next lane. Honking ensued while Punk hastily turned the volume down. "Sorry!"

"If you're trying to kill us for real, that's a good start!" Jericho said.

"I said I was sorry! Anyway, how was I supposed to know that the last person in this car was a joker who would turn the radio on full blast?" Punk asked. He frowned at the radio, then turned it up a little. "What song did Sarah say was the Flying Monkeys again?"

Jericho looked annoyed. "I'm pretty sure it was the Spinning Monkeys, and she said track three, I think."

"Whatever." Punk flapped his hand at his friend, then hit the CD player's forward button until the display said "3." The song that followed had him entranced for the next four minutes, finally allowing Jericho some peace while he looked for their exit off the 205. "That wasn't bad," Punk admitted, turning the radio off once the song had ended. "In fact, I really enjoyed it. Turns out Sarah has good musical taste, after all. Who knew?"

Jericho chuckled at his friend. Another five miles, and he finally saw the exit they needed. The road beyond the freeway quickly degraded into a bumpy track with barely any paving on it. "Looks like they need to get the county out here to fix the road," Jericho muttered, wincing at the pings the tiny rocks made as they hit the undercarriage. The car pitched and yawed like a ship at sea. "Very, very badly."

After a few more miles, they found the town. "Is this a joke?" Punk asked.

"If it is, it's not funny," his friend replied. He stopped the car and the two of them stared at the tiny town of Harmony, Washington, population 20. "No wonder the clerk at the rental car place was looking at us funny. This isn't a town, it's a wide spot in the road."

"At least Toby should be easy to find," Punk said.

"That's an understatement. I'm surprised we can't see Toby right now."

"What do we do?"

Jericho sighed. "We've come this far. We may as well finish it. Otherwise, we've flown across the entire county and put on hats you hated for nothing."

"Good point," Punk said.

Jericho started the car again, and they drove slowly into the town. "It's quiet."

"I know. I keep expecting to see a tumbleweed roll by or something."

Jericho glanced at the other man. "You're more likely to see that at Herb and Martha's."

"Toby must feel right at home, then."

The biggest building was marked "Mercantile," and it sat in the middle of all the others. Jericho pulled the car in with a shrug and killed the engine. He and Punk got out. The sound of the doors slamming echoed off the building. Jericho winced as they climbed the cement steps to the Mercantile. "Hi," said a solemn little voice. They turned to see a boy of about six staring up at them thoughtfully.

"Hey, little guy," Punk said. "We're looking for Toby."

The boy nodded. "Follow me." He pushed the door of the store open and walked up to the woman at the counter. "This is my mom," he announced to the two men.

The woman smiled at them. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"We're looking for Toby," Jericho said.

The woman's friendly look turned wary. "Oh? That so? Why are you looking for Toby?"

"We think he can help us. We were out on Zzyzx Road..."

She turned to the boy. "Cal, go out and play."

"Yes ma'am," said the boy. He went back out the front, the door closing firmly behind him.

She waited until he was gone, then turned back to them. "That was a long time ago."

"We met Herb and Martha," said Jericho.

"I figured. People don't come looking for me unless they have."

"Looking for you? We're looking for Toby," Punk said.

"You've found her," she said. The two superstars exchanged a look. "My father wanted a boy. He got me. My folks compromised by naming me Toby." She tilted her head. "But that doesn't matter. What happened to you out there?"

Punk cleared his throat. "We lost almost two years by staying overnight."

Toby nodded. "I lost time, too. That's what happens."

"Why?" Jericho asked. "That's what we're trying to find out."

Toby said, "Does it matter why? You could lose a lifetime if you stay long enough. The world could end out here and in there, everything would be business as usual."

"How long did you stay there?" Punk said.

Toby considered him for a long time. "The first time or the second one?"

"You went back?" Jericho said in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated. "It's hard to explain. Maybe it's because my life was horrible. They offered me a chance to come back and when my life went to hell, it was my only choice. I couldn't have my son Cal in my life, so I walked away from it. In fact, if you go by the time that went past out here, he's the longest pregnancy ever."

"How long?" asked Punk.

"The way I figured it, it was something like seventy years."

"Seventy years?" Punk choked. "So you were born when?"

"1925."

"That can't be right," Jericho said.

"I lived with Herb and Martha for almost a year, until after Cal was born. They said I should take him out into the world and we could come back when he's older, if I wanted to."

Punk spoke up. "We were there a night and we lost over two years. By that logic, you'd only have been at Herb and Martha's house for a little over thirty days."

"What you gentlemen don't understand," Toby said slowly, "is that time is a river and Herb and Martha's house is a stone, anchored within the flow. I don't know if you saw the old TV set they had..."

"No," said Jericho, "although they mentioned that you and Jim liked to watch wrestling."

She smiled and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "In truth, that was more Jim than me." She shook her head and met their gazes again. "But that doesn't matter. They shouldn't have been able to watch TV in my time. It didn't exist yet. But on my first full day at their house, they showed me their TV set and how it worked. They taught me things I'd need to know to survive in the modern world, and then they let me leave. And here I am."

"What about Jim?" asked Punk. "Where's he?"

"I couldn't say. We met there, and he was still there when Cal and I left."

"Well, he wasn't there when we were," Punk said.

"He'd come and go," she said. "Jim was often the person who could bridge the gap for them. He seemed to have no problem going onto the road. Herb and Martha don't leave the property, ever. I got the impression that if they did, something bad would happen. So Jim brings them supplies. Or at least he used to. Don't know if he still does or not."

"So why does time stop there and continue to flow here?" Punk asked. "Why are Herb and Martha a stone in the river of time? What's the explanation?"

"I really don't know," said Toby. "You'd have to ask them."

Punk shook his head. "That's not an answer, Toby."

"You're right, but it's the only one I have. You have to remember that when I was there, I had more pressing things on my mind, like finding a place to live and taking care of my son."

"Did you ever see others?" Jericho asked.

"Sure. Sometimes we'd get travelers, people who'd gotten lost on the road. I don't know if all of them lost time or not. Some of them may have only lost a few hours or a couple of days."

"Lucky us," Punk muttered.

"Others lose years," Toby continued. "I could never figure out why. Over the years, I've had a few people come looking for answers. All I know is, if they don't invite you back, then the road you see will never lead to their house again."

"And what if they do invite you back?" asked Punk.

She smiled. "Why, then you're free to go back as you please. You'll be able to find the house again, and spend time there."

"Why would we want to do that?" Jericho asked. "I lost two years of my life, my wife married another man, and my kids wouldn't recognize me if they saw me. Why would I go back and make it worse?"

"Because they're the only ones with the answers you seek," said Toby with a shrug. "They probably would have told me, but I didn't ask. Besides, I heard them tell others that the answers are different for everyone, so even if I did tell you, it wouldn't be the right answer. I'm not sure a right answer even exists, to be honest." She looked up when the shop door opened and allowed Cal back in. "You all right?" she asked him.

"I'm fine, mom," he said. "Linda wants to know if I can come over."

"That's fine," she said. "Go play now." The little boy nodded and went out again. A moment later, they could see him and a little red headed girl running away, hand in hand. Toby sighed. "And that's why I'll probably never go back. For me, the answer was that I wanted a better life for myself and my son, and I got it. I'm sure that's not your answer, so if you really want to know, you're going to have to go back and talk to Herb and Martha. They're the only ones who have any possibility of being able to tell you what you want to know."

"That's it?" Punk said. "We came all this way and the only thing you can tell us is to go and ask Herb and Martha?"

"That's it," she agreed. "Sorry I can't be more help, gentlemen."

Punk shook his head, but Jericho said thoughtfully, "Thank you, Toby. You've been very helpful. Come on, Punk. We'd better get moving. We've got a plane to catch." He turned and left the shop, Punk reluctantly following him.

"So we're going back to talk to Herb and Martha, then?"

"I don't know yet."

"And what was that 'you've been very helpful' crap? She didn't help at all!"

"She gave us a starting point."

Punk grumbled, "I thought she was a starting point."

"It's a circular pattern," Jericho said. "Things often end where they started. It won't hurt to fly out to Vegas and take a little drive over to Zzyzx Road and see what we see, will it?"

"The last time we did that, we were declared dead."

"Good point," said Jericho. "Still, if we want answers, going to the source seems to be the only way we're going to get them."


	12. The Dinner

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 12: The Dinner

They ended up staying overnight in Portland, so they could catch an early morning flight the next day. Neither of them felt much like going anywhere, but by the time seven pm had rolled around, they couldn't deny their need food any longer. "We could order in from the bar menu," said Jericho.

Punk shook his head. "I don't want to do that. I don't think the staff would bring us the right meal, and anyway, it's a very limited menu. You'd be happy, since they have a lot of alcohol, but it's not going to do me much good."

"So what, then? Should we attempt to find somewhere to eat?"

"It's that or eat in the bar, which is not something I'm willing to do."

"Okay," said Jericho with a sigh. "See if you can find us a place, then. Somewhere that meets your dietary needs."

Punk grabbed the phone book and flipped through the pages, his brow furrowed. "Looks like there's an Applebee's not too far from here."

"I saw it on the way to the hotel," said Jericho. "It'll probably be crowded. Those places usually are."

"I don't care. It's not like we can't take it to go. I just need to get out of here for a while."

"All right," Jericho said. He grabbed the car keys. "But fair warning. You may have to drive back."

Punk shrugged. "I can live with that." He set the phone book back on the nightstand between the two beds and headed for the door.

Applebee's was crowded, as they'd expected. "We're never going to get a table," said Jericho. "Maybe we ought to bite the bullet and sit at the bar."

"No way," Punk said. "I am not about to throw my morals out the window and sit at the bar. Let's just get it to go and head back to the room."

"It's depressing there," Jericho said.

"It'll be more depressing here if we sit at the bar. Because I'm not going to let you hear the end of it."

"Fine," Jericho sighed. "Maybe we can eat in the car or something."

"That sounds pleasant."

"Phil! Chris!" Both men turned, frowning as they heard their names.

"Who do we know in Portland?" Punk asked.

"I don't know." They scanned the restaurant. Jericho saw her first, and he started to chuckle.

"What?" Punk asked, and then he saw her, too. "Sarah."

Sure enough, their seatmate on the plane was waving to them from a table in the restaurant. "What do we do?"

Punk looked at the crowd, then sighed. "I guess we go and say hello. Then we can order our food to go."

They wove their way through the restaurant, stopping at the table of Sarah and her father. "Didn't think I'd see you guys again," Sarah said. "Do you want to sit with us?"

"I don't know," Phil began.

"Sure," Jericho said quickly. "If that's all right with your father."

"Absolutely," said Sarah's dad. "So how long are you boys in town?"

"We're leaving in the morning," Jericho said.

"That's not enough time to see the sights," said Sarah's father.

"Oh, we've seen it before," Jericho said. "We travel a lot on business."

"Well, we used to," Punk amended. "We haven't done so much lately, since we were in the same place for a few years."

"Yes," said Jericho thoughtfully. "Though time passed in a flash, so it seems like we were just here a few months ago, even though it's been years. But really, how much has changed in the last few years?"

"Not much, I guess," said Sarah's dad. The girl herself was squinting and Punk, a frown on her lips. He made a face at the girl, which made her stare all the harder. "Sarah?"

"What?" She blinked and looked at her dad. "I'm sorry. I guess I was daydreaming again."

The waiter came and they ordered their food. As soon as he left, Sarah's father said, "I need to go call Denise and let her know when we'll be home. She had to work tonight, or she'd have been here, as well." He nodded to the Superstars, then kissed his daughter's brow and walked off.

"What?" Punk asked, seeing that the girl's stare had landed on him yet again.

She smiled and said, "I've got a little brother. He's twelve this year. His room is practically wallpapered in the stuff that little boys care about. No girls on the walls yet, but lots of posters of skulls and lots of pictures from his magazine collection. Do you know what his favorite magazine is?"

"Ranger Rick?" Punk ventured.

"I don't even know what that is," Sarah said. "No. It's his WWE magazine."

"Oh. Awesome."

She shrugged. "I don't have much use for wrestling, honestly. But sometimes, when I'm bored, I'll flip through the magazines. About six months ago, he brought me this article and begged me to read it. Some kind of special retrospective called something like, 'Death in the Desert- the Strange Case of Chris something or other and something Punk'."

"That was the name of it?" Punk asked, his nose wrinkled.

"Well, it had their actual in ring names," Sarah said. "Anyway, I got to thinking about it, and I asked my brother to scan the article in and e-mail it to me. And do you know what I found?"

"No," said Jericho, firmly. "We have no idea."

The girl looked thoughtful. "It wouldn't have clicked, except that you called him 'Punk'," she told Jericho. "I mean, what kind of a nickname is that? I looked that up on Google and found a reference to the disappearance and death, and then I called my brother and asked him about the article. Here." She pulled her phone out and scrolled through it to the picture she wanted. "You look like them, except that it's been years and you haven't aged a day. How is that possible?"

"I wish I had an answer for you," Jericho said. "But I don't."

"Maybe we should just go."

"Are you guys ghosts or something? Or like guardian angels, meant to get me on that plane?"

"No," Punk said. "We're just a couple of guys who have a lot of questions about this."

Sarah nodded slowly. "Where have you guys been? I mean, this is you, right?"

Jericho cleared his throat. "Yeah, it's us," he said, earning him a look from his friend. "And as to where we've been, I wish we knew."

"My brother may be a wrestling fan," the girl said, "but if you went missing for years, that's my up my alley. Maybe you fell into a wormhole or found a thin spot in the universe or something. I hear those things happen."

"Yeah," Punk said, "that's where the socks all go in the dryer."

Sarah glared at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

The girl huffed out an annoyed breath. "I want to help you guys."

"I'm not sure how you can, aside from not saying anything to anyone," Punk said. "Very few people know that we're back, and it looks like that may not last all that long."

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked.

"It means," Punk said, "that we're going back to the source for answers, and if said source disappeared us once, it could do it again- maybe this time permanently."

She frowned at that. "Where is this source you're talking about?"

"I think we've already said too much," Jericho said, glaring at Punk. "Look, Sarah, don't worry about it. We're just a weird little blip on your radar right now, and we'll be gone from Portland by the morning. No big deal. Then you can go on with your life and we can do what we need to do."

"No, that is not okay," she said angrily. "Look, Chris..." But before she could get any further into the tirade, her father appeared at the doorway of the restaurant. She hissed out an annoyed breath. "This isn't over, guys," she muttered.

"I'd say it is," Chris said.

Sarah's father sat down at the table. "Sorry about that," he said. "My wife likes to talk sometimes. So what did I miss?"

"Nothing much," said Chris, smiling at the man. "We were about to take our leave."

"We just ordered!" Punk protested.

"I know," Chris said, "but we really do have an early flight in the morning, and we should probably take our food back to the room so we can get some sleep, don't you think, Phil?"

Punk grumbled. "I guess so."

"It was nice running into the both of you again," said Jericho politely.

"If you ever come back through," said Sarah's dad, "you should give us a call. I'm sure Sarah would like to see you again."

"I'm not sure how likely that is," Jericho said, "but sure. Next time, we'll stay longer and buy you guys dinner. Bring your wife."

"I will," said the other man. "Have a good night."

Jericho and Punk nodded to the man and his daughter, then walked away from the table. Punk grumbled, "I wanted to eat here."

"It's a small price to pay to get away from Sarah's curiosity," Jericho said. "Besides, we really should get back to the room. We have to be up at a ridiculous hour."

Punk sighed. "You're right," he said, "but I still hate it, anyway."

The two men stopped by the counter and Jericho asked the waiter, "Do you think we could get our order to go? Something came up, and we have to leave."

The waiter muttered something before smiling wearily. "Sure. Just give me a few minutes. You may as well have a seat."

Punk said, "I'm going to go outside, okay? I'll take my food to go, but I'm not going to sit in the bar and wait for it."

"Fine," Jericho said.

Punk wove his way through the bar and out of the restaurant. He leaned against the building, closing his eyes. "I want to talk to you." At the voice, his eyes flew open and he found himself alone with a very annoyed Sarah.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"I came out because you guys need my help. Chris may not want to admit it, but you know I'm right."

"Sarah," he sighed, "I can't tell you anything. We honestly don't know where we've been, and the only people who seem to have the answers are the ones who caused us to disappear in the first place. Chris doesn't want to involve you, and I think that's smart of him. We don't know what we're dealing with, and you're just a kid."

"I'm almost an adult!" the girl snapped. "And I'm not stupid, you know."

"I wasn't suggesting that you were. Chris lost everything because of what happened. His wife remarried, his kids think he's dead... He doesn't want to drag anyone else into this mess, and frankly, neither do I. If you know too much about what happened to us, you're going to get curious, and it's going to ruin your life, too. We don't want that. I'm sure you don't, either."

"Don't tell me what I don't want, Phil," she growled. "Because you have no idea."

Jericho pushed through the door then. "Ready to go?" he asked Punk, glancing at Sarah.

Punk pushed away from the wall with a sigh. "Yeah. Goodbye, Sarah. Have a nice life."


	13. The Airport

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 13: The Airport

The sound of the alarm was deafening. Punk pulled his pillow over his head, groaning as the clock blared what could only be described as "early air horn" next to his head. "Shut it off!" he said to Jericho, the words muffled by both the pillow and the terribly loud bleating of the pained alarm. It was a relief when the alarm stopped moments later. Punk peeked one bleary eye out at his companion, who appeared to be well rested and already showered and dressed. "What's up with that?" he asked.

"What?"

"You look like you're gearing up for a photo shoot."

"It's not every day a man goes to meet his destiny."

Punk rolled his eyes and tossed the pillow at his friend. "Spare me, Chris," he muttered. "I'm going to go take a shower."

"Okay, but we've only got an hour before we have to be at the airport."

Punk sighed. "Not nearly enough time."

"I can't help you there," Jericho said. "Come on. Get dressed. You can sleep on the plane to Las Vegas."

Punk stopped trying to burrow his way under the second pillow and squinted up at Jericho. "Are you sure about this, Chris?"

"What do you mean?"

"We already lost so much time. Are you sure it's smart to tempt fate and go back out there?"

"What else can we do?" Jericho asked. "We're stuck here, and I lost everything when we came back. I don't want to live like this, Punk. If there's another way..."

"What if there isn't?" Punk interrupted. "What if we go and we lose even more time, and we never get our answers?"

Jericho sighed. "I don't know. But anything's better than not trying. My kids think I'm dead, my wife married Christian of all people, and there's nothing left for me. Even if we came back to the WWE, it's not going to be the same. Nothing will ever be the same." He turned away. "So get up, and let's get to the airport. We don't have all day, and time is moving too fast already."

"Okay," Punk said. "Give me a minute, and then we'll go."

"Grab a shower first," Jericho said. "It's going to be a long, hot day."

%^%

Despite Jericho's mood, Punk found himself looking forward to the plane ride back to Vegas. He didn't mind cramming the Marlins hat back onto his head for the flight, despite the fact that it gained him a few weird looks. "What are they looking at?" he asked Jericho.

The other man pursed his lips. "Maybe we should get a Seahawks hat or something."

"Why? So that when we get to Vegas, you'll want to stick me in yet another hat? No thanks." He patted the Marlins hat. "I'm good for now."

Jericho shrugged and pulled his own Marlins hat back onto his head, then studied the flight board. "Looks like it's on time," he announced.

"Good. Maybe something will go right for once," Punk muttered.

They made it through security easily and were waiting in the terminal when it happened. "Would Chris Irvine or Phillip Brooks please pick up a white courtesy phone?" a lady's robotic voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

Jericho's forehead wrinkled. "Who knows we're here?" he asked.

"Toby?" Punk said. "Or maybe Sarah."

Jericho marched to the desk and picked up the phone, with Punk on his heels. "This is Christoper Irvine," he said in his best, no nonsense voice. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Is it Sarah?" Punk whispered, and Jericho waved him away.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said into the phone. "We haven't seen her, but we'll keep an eye out, and if she's here, I'll make sure she stays here until someone can send her back home." He paused. "Yes, thank you for calling and letting me know. Goodbye."

"It wasn't Sarah?"

"It was her father," Jericho said. "Sarah disappeared out of his house this morning. She left a note to tell her dad she was with us." He frowned. "That girl is way more trouble than she's worth."

Punk scanned the airport around them. "I don't see her. Anyway, she's not going to get far without some way to buy a plane ticket and ID."

"She took all her money," Jericho said. "But the ID? That I don't know about."

"Don't worry," Punk said. "They'll find her and get her home safely."

Just then, the flight attendant announced that their flight was boarding. "What do we do?" Jericho asked. "Do we stay here and look for her, or do we go on?"

Punk ran his teeth over his lip ring as he considered. Then, "We have to go, Chris. We don't have the time or the money to wait around here and try to find her. Besides, she's not our problem, is she?"

"I suppose not."

"She'll be fine."

"You aren't worried?"

Punk sighed. "She's a fairly good kid with some terrible ideas. She has no idea where we're going or how to get there. Worst case scenario, she makes it to Vegas and the police pick her up. But I think it's more likely that security will grab her before she even makes the gates, and she'll be home within the hour. I'd like to help her, Chris, but we have our own lives to figure out, and she's..." He shrugged. "She's a confused kid who decided she was curious about us, and that may lead her to some trouble, but it's not our trouble. You know?"

Jericho eyed his friend for a long moment, then sighed. "Maybe you're right," he said after a moment. "They'll likely catch her before she's on a plane. They may already have her in custody."

"Maybe so," Punk agreed. He turned and scanned the airport. "And if we do see her, we'll alert the proper authorities, and they'll get her home again." He turned back to his friend. "Now, if we can only get us home again, that would be great."

"You're telling me," Jericho said. "I keep thinking about walking into my house and finding out that Christian is married to my wife and raising my kids."

"That's got to be hard."

"It is. I thought he and I were friends. How could he do that to me?"

"He thought you were dead."

"But I'm not," said Jericho angrily. "And even if I was, so what? Has he been in the wings my whole relationship, waiting to marry my wife if I died?"

"That seems like a stretch," Punk said.

"Does it?" Jericho asked. "Even if this works out and we manage to go back in time, I don't know that I'll be able to trust either of them ever again."

"It's times like this that I'm glad I don't have a wife," Punk said with a frown. "We should get into line."

"Good idea." Jericho led the way, taking his place immediately behind a large woman with a flowery hat. Her perfume smelled vaguely musty. "You know, Sarah's probably hiding out somewhere, and she'll come home when she realizes we've really gone. It sounded like her dad was trying to file a missing person's report."

"Don't they usually have to wait twenty four hours?" Punk asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Unless something has changed in the last few years, that is." He shrugged. "But she left a note, saying she was running away, so it's not like they don't know that she's missing."

"Still," Punk said, "I'd wager that she doesn't leave Portland. She'll turn up, I'm sure."

"Of course," Jericho said. He wrinkled his nose at the weird smell coming from the woman in front of him. She finished dealing with the gate agent, and then it was their turn. "Hello," he said with a smile.

The unsmiling gate agent stared at Punk and Jericho. "This is a full flight. I'm not sure the two of you will be comfortable."

Jericho tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"The two of you are rather… large. Just a moment." The woman lifted her walkie talkie to her lips. "Casey, can you come to terminal six?" The walkie squawked. "Thanks." She turned back to the two of them. "My supervisor will be here momentarily. Would the two of you like to step out of line, please?"

Jericho and Punk exchanged a look. "We need to get on the plane," Punk said.

"Step out of line, please," the agent repeated firmly. "Thank you for your cooperation. It will make everything else go more smoothly."

Grumbling, Jericho stepped aside. Punk gave the woman a defiant glare, then reluctantly followed his friend. "Well, this sucks."

"What does it matter?" Jericho said. "I'm sure the road will be there or not, regardless of what time we show up."

"I feel like the universe is conspiring against us," Punk said. "Do you ever feel like that, Chris?"

"Only all the time," Jericho muttered. "We may as well have a seat."

They sat down close to the gate. "Look," Punk said, when the supervisor approached the gate agent, who then pointed to them.

"Yeah," Jericho said.

They stood as the young man approached them. "I understand there was a problem?" he asked.

"Your employee said we couldn't board the plane because we'd be uncomfortable," Jericho said.

"It is a full flight," the man agreed.

"And what does that mean?" Punk asked.

"It means that you might be more comfortable on a different flight, one that's less crowded."

"We appreciate the concern…" Jericho began.

"I've got some vouchers," said the supervisor. "I'm upgrading you to first class on the later flight. It's only half an hour later, and the plane is much less crowded."

Punk raised his eyebrows. "Fine. Whatever."

"This is weird," Jericho muttered, as they watched the supervisor walk away. "Why would they pull us off a flight, then upgrade us to first class?"

"I don't know," Punk said with a shrug, "but I'll wait an extra half hour to have more room."

"Why is everyone so hung up on extra room?" Jericho grumbled. "I just want to get back to Zzyzx Road and find out if we can fix this."

"I don't know why they're hung up on it," Punk said, "but extra room is good. I hate being all cramped up in coach. Have you forgotten what happened the last time? We had to deal with Sarah and her nosiness. At least if we're up in first class, that isn't half so likely."

"I told you, I doubt we'll see her, anyway. She wouldn't be stupid enough to show herself to us here in the Portland airport, where it would be easy to turn around and let her father know where she was."

"Don't be too sure," Punk muttered, tilting his head to indicate a young lady striding toward them.

Jericho groaned. "Is she seriously just going to walk up to us?"

"Daddy!" the girl said, throwing her arms around Jericho and hugging him tightly. It made his heart ache. "You waited for me! I was so worried we'd miss our flight!"

"Apparently, she is," Jericho muttered. "Sarah…"

"Hug me, damn it," she said through gritted teeth. "Security is watching us."

Instinct made him wrap his arms around her in a hug. "We're going to prison for this," Jericho muttered to the two of them.

"Or Hell," said Punk almost cheerfully. "Maybe both."


	14. The Truth

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 14: The Truth

"We can't do this," Jericho said finally, releasing Sarah. "You have to go home."

"I can't," she said with a sigh. "You guys are my only hope. And think of how bad it's going to look if you turn me in."

"Sarah," Jericho said. "It's going to be worse if we cross state lines with you. You're a minor. There's no way."

"Fine," she said. "I'll just tell security that you were trying to kidnap me."

"Sarah!" Punk said.

The girl shrugged and looked the straightedge superstar in the eye. "If you leave me no other choice, I'll be forced to resort to more drastic measures. Sorry, but that's how it is."

"Do you really think that blackmailing us will help your case?" Jericho asked.

"Isn't this more like extortion?" Punk interjected. Jericho waved the words away, his eyes on Sarah.

"Either way, it's wrong. We can't take you with us."

"Why not?" she demanded. "I want to help you guys!"

"Because there's no place for you where we're going. We already lost years, and I'm not going to let that happen to you, Sarah. You have a family who cares about you. They would miss you. They'd think you were dead." Jericho ran a hand through his hair. "And it would be devastating for everyone. No, I'm not going to do it."

"You don't have much choice," the girl said.

"Of course we do," Punk said. "Your dad just called, looking for you. We're already delayed. We can stand to wait another day or two to get you back home. Come on, Sarah. You don't want your family to worry about you, to always wonder where you went, do you? It's devastating, as Chris can attest."

"I came home to find my wife married to another man. My kids think I'm dead." Chris sighed. "And you want your family to think that you're dead in a ditch somewhere? Because where we're going, we won't be coming back from. At least, not to this time. Maybe not ever, if they can't fix what happened."

"But if you leave, I'll never see you again. You guys are my friends."

"And we'll always be your friends, Sarah," Punk said. "That's why we're telling you, you have to go home."

Sarah shook her head. "I'm tired of being in the middle of a mess. My mom barely has time for me, and my dad… well, you met him. He's more interested in his new wife."

"What about your brother?" Jericho asked.

She was quiet for a long moment. "I would miss him. But he's got his own thing going."

"He still needs you," Jericho said.

"Even if I barely see him?"

"Maybe especially because you barely see him."

Punk glanced up. "Uh, guys? Security seems to be taking an interest in us. Maybe we should…"

Sarah sighed again. "Goodbye. I hope you guys find what you're looking for." She hugged Jericho again, then reached out to hug Punk, who blinked before embracing her. "Go and be happy, okay? But think of me sometimes."

"We will, " Punk said.

She nodded, then turned and headed for the security guard. "Hi. Can you call my dad so he can come get me? I snuck out to say goodbye to my friends, but now I'm ready to go home."

"What a weird kid," Punk said.

"Sweet, though," Jericho replied.

"Yeah, except for the whole trying to get us held on kidnapping charges."

"She didn't think things through. I suppose we're all guilty of that sometimes."

Punk smirked. "Some of us more than others."

"Says the man who got us lost in the first place."

"Not my fault. If you hadn't been drinking so heavily the night before, you would probably have been driving. We might not have been in this mess… or we might have. We'll never know, because it's not like we can go back in time and redo it."

"Unless we can."

Punk shrugged. "Let's go get something to eat. It's going to be a few minutes until our new flight boards, and I'm starved. Someone wouldn't let me stop for food this morning."

"Someone was trying to make sure we didn't miss our plane."

"And you see how well that worked out."

Jericho rolled his eyes. "Blame the flight crew for that one."

"It's not the flight crew's fault that I'm still standing here, starving," Punk said.

"Go get some food, then. I'm not stopping you." Punk sighed and gave Jericho a put upon look, which made the latter chuckle. "Bring me back a coke or something."

"Pepsi," said Punk absently. "I will."

"Sometimes a guy just wants a coke," Jericho grumbled but he settled into his seat with a smile. He felt tired, now that they were at the airport with nothing else to do but wait.

He was zoning off when a voice broke through his reverie. "Mr. Irvine?"

Jericho cleared his throat and sat up. "Yes?"

The man was tall and thin with an oddly expressionless face. "Can you come with me, please?"

"My friend will be back in a moment," he said, glancing toward where Punk had disappeared a few minutes before.

"He'll be brought. Gather your things."

Jericho frowned at the man. "I don't know who you are…."

"Forgive me, Mr. Irvine, but we don't have time now for pleasantries. I need you to do as I ask and gather your things and come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere, except on my plane."

"Chris?" Punk walked up, holding a bag of food and a tray with two drinks. "Everything okay?"

"This must be Mr. Brooks?" the man said, tilting his head toward Punk, who nodded. "Good. Grab your things and follow me, please, and don't waste time arguing."

"What is this about?" Jericho asked.

"I'm here to escort you to your flight."

"Oh. Why didn't you say so?" Jericho picked up his things, then turned to Punk. "He got all weird and cryptic on me." Punk worried his lip ring, but gathered his things up. He followed Jericho and the other man through the airport. "Hey, this isn't the way to the airplanes."

"Chris," Punk said, in a very weird tone, "shut up and follow the nice man, okay?"

The man looked past Jericho to Punk, then smiled. It was odd looking on his stern face. "How did you know?"

"I saw a picture."

"What…?" Jericho began.

"At the Mercantile. On the shelf, behind the counter. Toby and Herb and Martha and another man. I assume it was Jim."

"Very good," said the other man. "You're a smart one."

"Wait, you're Jim?" Jericho asked.

"He'll catch up eventually," Punk said.

"Shut up, Punk," Jericho muttered. "So if you're Jim, how did you know my name? I didn't tell Toby or Herb and Martha my last name. Neither did Punk, come to think of it. But when you showed up, you called us by our real last names."

"Keep walking," Jim said. "I'll explain in the car."

"Car?" Jericho paused again. "But…"

"Chris," Punk said, his teeth gritted, "when the nice time traveler says keep walking, you keep walking."

Jericho frowned, but kept walking. Jim checked his watch, then nodded and led them through the bustling airport, out to a car that was waiting in the parking lot. It didn't look like much; a dumpy little midsize that had long ago lost its color to the dust from the road. Jim threw their luggage into the trunk, then with one more glance at the airport, he opened the doors and beckoned them inside. "Is it safe?"

"Safer than where you were five minutes ago," Jim answered.

Once they were on the freeway headed south, Jim relaxed. "What was that all about?" Jericho asked.

Jim indicated a newspaper in the floor. "That."

"What?" Jericho picked up the paper and stared at it. "What the hell is this? Some kind of a joke?"

"You should know by now that things like this are no joke," said Jim gravely.

Punk reached for the paper, and Jericho let it go. The headline screamed, "Portland airport destroyed in freak accident." The date was for the next day. "What happens?" Jericho asked finally.

"Freak storm drops some planes on the airport. Some kind of tornado or hurricane or something, which is unheard of in this area." Punk said. "It doesn't sound like it's totally wiped out, but it's bad. A lot of people die."

"Not you, though," Jim said.

"No," Punk said. "Thanks for that."

"Sarah!" Jericho said, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

"She got out," Jim reassured him. "You convinced her to leave this time, so she lived."

"This time?" Jericho asked.

"Sure. What, you think there's only one world? There's a world where you missed that turnoff, and you're two years older, living your lives. There's a world where you really died. Where do you think we got the DNA to convince them you were dead?"

"You… what?" Jericho asked faintly.

"The problem with the world outside of Zzyzx Road is that it moves on. People disappear and their kin wonder what happened to them. We're never sure how long they'll lose, so we can pull back the curtain a little and fix the mistakes that were made. Sometimes that means that someone gets declared dead."

"Even though it screws up their whole lives and their wives remarry their best friends?"

Jim shrugged. "Sometimes. But would you rather she worried about you and cried over you and waited for someone who might never have come home?"

"But I did, two years later."

"We had one fellow once who slept for so long that everyone he knew was dead. Must have been a hundred years."

"Are you referring to the story of Rip Van Winkle?" asked Punk in disbelief.

"That's the fellow. Did you know him?"

"No, but I've heard the story. Only he was supposedly kidnapped by fairies."

"Nobody kidnapped him. He wandered to Herb and Martha's, just like the rest of us. They took pity on him and gave him food and a bed. He slept so well that he missed his town turning into a bustling mecca, then dying off again."

Jericho shook his head. "So what are you saying? That Herb and Martha are fairies and their house is some kind of… of portal to fairyland?"

"Don't be absurd," Jim said. "There's no portal there. Fairyland is gone. Herb and Martha live in a pocket dimension that expands and retracts as it sees fit."

Punk looked more than a little disturbed. "But you're not disputing the fairy part?"

"Well, they're not little wingy things, if that's what you're thinking," Jim said. "But I reckon fairies is as right an explanation as anything else."

Punk sat back in his seat. "The food." He shook his head in dismay. "We ate the food. You're never supposed to do that."

"Better that you did," Jim said gravely. "Otherwise, you might have starved to death while you slept. Two years is a long time, after all."

"But it only felt like one night!" Jericho protested.

"That's all they ever feel like," Jim agreed.

"Are you driving us all the way to Herb and Martha's?" Punk asked.

"No. you're booked on a flight out of Eugene. You'll fly into Las Vegas, then rent a car and get yourselves lost again. Or don't. That part's up to you."

"I still want answers," Jericho said.

"Me too," Punk admitted.

"Fair enough. I'm sure Herb and Martha will tell you whatever you want to know, but it's going to take some time."

Jericho sighed. "At this point, what does it matter? I've got nothing to lose."


	15. The Return

A/N: Despite finishing this story months ago, I haven't updated since the first week in January. There are a lot of reasons for this, but the main one is that my job has destroyed my social life, my writing life, and my desire to do much other than watch TV and veg, most of the time. However, I wanted to put the end of the story up so that I can put "finished" on this one. Hopefully, you'll love it as much as I do. Happy reading!

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 15: The Return

The Eugene airport was quiet when they arrived, although people seemed restless. "Are you sure that was happening today?" Jericho asked.

"It's already happening," Jim said. "They're going to break into the news at any moment and people aren't going to believe it. Some of them normally go through Portland and had an urge to book their flights here today. They had no idea why. Others may cancel their plans now and stay home. But your plane will get out fine, and so will theirs if they choose to go." He handed the bags over. "Have a safe trip, gentlemen, and tell Herb and Martha that I said hello, and I'll be home as soon as I can."

"We'll let them know. Thanks," Punk said. They waved to Jim as he walked away. "Are we really doing this?"

"What?" Jericho picked up his bags and headed for the check in.

"We wanted to know what happened. Now we do. Are we really flying back to fairyland?"

"It's not fairyland, it's a pocket dimension. And I'm doing it. I have nothing better to do."

Punk sighed. "Come on, Chris. We could lose decades in there. The next time we come out, your kids may be our age."

"It's because of the kids I have to go back." Jericho turned and met his friend's eyes. "Time moves both ways there. Jim brought us a paper from tomorrow. How is that possible if he couldn't visit tomorrow?"

"We're already visiting tomorrow," Punk pointed out, "and it's not what you wanted."

"True, but he also visited yesterday, in that the paper is from tomorrow and today is yesterday tomorrow."

"You're giving me a headache. You want to go back and see if they can send us back to the moment when we got lost?"

"No. We still have to get lost, but I want to be set back on the road right after that. Maybe it really will be the next day, or maybe we'll lose two or three… or hell, even ten. I'd take ten over two years any day. I can almost explain ten. But two years? That's just too much time, and I want it back."

"Fairies don't do things for free."

"Herb and Martha did. They were very kind to us. You slept wonderfully."

"And they stole two years of our lives!" Punk nearly shouted.

"We're supposed to be keeping a low profile," Jericho reminded him. He put his ticket on the desk. "Hello! Checking in, please."

The woman behind the counter checked the ticket. "You're all checked in, Mr. Irvine! Have a safe trip!"

"Thank you…." He checked her name tag, then chuckled. "Martha. That's not a common name anymore, is it?"

"No, sir," the girl chirped. "You don't see much of it anymore."

"It seems to be popping up more often to me," Punk muttered to Jericho as he passed his ticket over to the girl.

"And you're all checked in too, Mr. Brooks. Have a safe flight!"

"Thank you, Martha." They carried their bags away from the counter. "You know what I hate about airports? Everyone seems like a drone."

"They're just doing their job."

"I know." Punk sighed and set his bag down. "At least I got to eat before everything went all to hell."

"Yeah." Jericho stared thoughtfully around the airport. "I wonder why this place is spared."

"Because the storm isn't anywhere near here?"

"Yeah, but why not? What makes one place get hit while another is safe?"

"Is this a metaphor for our lives, Chris?"

"Maybe."

Punk sighed. "Honestly? I've been asking myself that question this whole time. Why us? I mean, we don't have much in common outside of work, do we? Fozzy's okay and all…"

"Thanks," said Jericho sourly.

"But we don't share a lot of the same tastes in anything. It was pure luck that we got paired together in the room that trip, and even worse luck that had us riding together."

"You weren't my first choice either, you know."

"I meant that I was supposed to be traveling with Kofi and you were supposed to be with… who?"

"Miz and Riley," Jericho grumbled.

"Yeah. And if you hadn't stayed out partying with them and been impossible to wake up the next day…"

"They disabled my alarm!" Jericho protested.

"Trust me," said Punk, making a face, "they didn't. For one thing, they aren't that clever, and for another, you slept through the alarm. I know, because I spent forever trying to wake you up after it went off. You were just so drunk that it wasn't going to happen. So we ended up leaving last because Riley and Miz took off early, and Kofi said he'd catch a ride with Eve and Maria." He paused. "I bet he's glad he did, too."

"Yeah, or he'd be here with us." Jericho frowned. "But you waited for me?"

"Someone had to take you to the next venue and we were roommates. It fell to me to make sure you made it there alive. And well, you can see how that went."

"I still think we're in a coma or dead somewhere."

"That's the plot of several bad horror movies, Chris, but as you pointed out to me two years ago… or a few days ago, depending on who you ask… we're not in a horror movie. This is our reality, and we have to try and deal with it."

"Now boarding," the speaker blared. "Flight 593 to Las Vegas at gate 4."

"That's us," Jericho said, picking up his bag.

"Well, let's go back to Vegas and see if we can get back to home, wherever that may be."

"Don't you mean 'whenever'?"

"That too," Punk said.

%^%

The flight was a little bumpy at first, but it settled down almost immediately. The captain broke the silence midway through the flight to tell them about the tragedy in Portland. Punk listened intently, nodding once during the recitation. Jericho dozed in the seat beside him. When they touched down on the ground, he stretched and turned to Punk. "I guess Jim was right."

"I guess he was."

"They've never done us any harm… Aside from keeping us for two years, that is."

"I'd say that's quite a bit of harm, wouldn't you?"

Jericho shrugged. "I don't think they can help it, that maybe it's a side effect of something that happens out there."

"What, like they produce so much awesomeness that it makes the universe lose track of time sometimes?"

"Something like that."

"Your awesomeness theory aside, why should we trust them?"

"Because," Jericho said, "they could have let us die there and they didn't. They could have kept us from coming back, and they haven't that we know of. And I liked them. They seemed like very nice people, and they helped us out when we needed a place to stay. They fed us and gave us beds to sleep in."

"And kept us hostage for two years that we apparently slept through."

"Why do you have to be so negative, Punky?"

Punk sighed. "Please don't start calling me that again."

"It's better than Philly, right?" Jericho asked with a grin.

"Whatever you say, Chrissy." Chris shrugged. "What? Being called by a girl's name doesn't bother you?"

"Nope. Does it bother you, Philly?"

"Stop that!"

"I see it does," said Jericho with a grin.

"Shut up," Punk said. "And let's get our rental car and finish this already."

"You're going to have to buy again, I'm afraid."

"Of course I will," Punk grumbled. "You've been a freeloader this whole trip."

Jericho nudged his grumpy friend and chuckled. "Cheer up. You'll probably sleep really well tonight."

"If I don't starve to death, that is."

"Make sure you eat first, then. Honestly, Martha was an excellent cook, and I think she had an eye on fattening you up."

"I don't need fattening up. How am I supposed to do my job if I'm a fat slob?" He paused. "I noticed she didn't think you needed fattening up, Chris."

"Nope, sure don't," Jericho agreed, patting his stomach. "But I'm weirdly less ruled by food than you are."

"Yeah, weirdly."

They approached the rental counter. "I'd like a car, please," Punk said.

"Okay. What size?"

"Better get a big one," Jericho said. "You know, so I can fit my fat ass in it."

The clerk's eyes bugged and Punk choked back a laugh. "Midsize, please," he managed. "So my friend's fat ass will fit."

The clerk gave the pair of them a dirty look. "What's the name?"

"Phillip Brooks."

She tapped a few keys, then frowned at him. "You already have a reservation, and it's prepaid."

"What?" Punk asked. "Let me see."

She turned the screen. "This is you, right?"

Punk scanned the information, then shook his head. "Yeah. That's me. And you're even on it as a driver, Chris."

"Check out the address," Jericho said softly.

Punk's eyes scanned the form, then widened when he realized what it said: 1226 Zzyzx Road. No city, or zip code, just those four numbers and two words."Whatever you have for us will be fine, thanks."

The girl finished up a few keystrokes, then handed them the keys. "Have a nice trip!"

"You know what bothers me, even more than the address?" Jericho asked.

"What?"

"She didn't even ask to see our licenses. When have you ever rented a car that they didn't ask to take copies and make you produce a million documents, like the card used to book the car?"

Punk stared thoughtfully at the girl, but she ignored them. "You're right. That is pretty weird."

"I guess Jim took care of everything."

"That isn't exactly reassuring."

"I think it is," Jericho said. "We're on the right track."

"Or we're walking into a trap."

"Punk," Jericho said. "It's Herb and Martha. You don't have to go back if you don't want to, but I have to know if they can fix what happened to us. I want my life back, if I can have it."

"I know," Punk sighed. "And I'm not going to let you go alone, but I kind of feel like something is closing in on us and we've got no way out of it."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It's just how I woke up feeling, I guess. The Portland thing didn't help."

"Well, it's a long drive. Do you want me to take the first part?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure if we can even find Zzyzx Road again."

"From that computer screen, I'd say it's likely. Someone or something wants us to come back, almost as much as I want to go back. I need to do this, Phil."

"We're going back," Punk said. "And I don't know if I'll be more unhappy if we find it or if we don't."

"I know which one I'll be."

"Yeah." Punk put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Me too."


	16. The Drive

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 16: The Drive

"Do you want to drive for a while?" Punk asked, an hour outside of Vegas.

"If I do, will it jinx us?"

"I'm pretty sure we'll find the road either way, but I'm exhausted, and the Pepsi isn't helping much today." Jericho looked at his friend in disbelief. "I know. I'm as shocked as you are."

"You're tired? You slept on the plane, didn't you?"

"I just feel kind of draggy."

"Well, pull over and I'll drive, then."

They pulled over and switched spots. Punk leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "This is heaven."

"How far do you think Zzyzx Road is?"

"I don't know," Punk admitted. "We were coming from the other way, and it was dark, despite it not being all that late. So I guess look for a patch of darkness, and then drive us into it until the car quits working, and then we'll walk the rest of the way."

"I'll try that, then." The road stretched out before them, long and empty of scenery, but full of cars. "Didn't you say something about all the cars being gone?"

"Yeah, maybe," Punk said drowsily. "Who knows? That happened two years ago."

Jericho smirked at his friend. "Good point."

Pretty soon, he found himself zoning out on the road. The drive was boring enough that he didn't have to think about what he was doing. He had time to think about his family and the last time he'd seen them. It was before they show they'd done in California, of course. He was home for a weekend and he'd been playing in the backyard, throwing a Frisbee and chasing his three kids in the silliest game of tag ever. They had a really great day. He smiled fondly at the memory. "Watch the road," Punk muttered, and Jericho glanced over. The man was still asleep, but he seemed to be dreaming about something. Maybe the first time they'd found Zzyzx Road?

"Sorry," Jericho muttered.

"I don't want to die today," Punk said. He cracked open one eye.

"Oh. I thought you were asleep."

"It's hard to sleep when you're sniffling and weaving all over the road."

"I'm not doing either of those things."

Punk raised his eyebrows. "Then why am I awake? It's only been a little while since you took over."

"Maybe you don't trust me?"

"I might not." Punk sighed and shut his eyes again.

"Maybe you should drive, then. You were the one… who found it the first time."

"The one who broke down, you mean. You're the one who found it."

"Maybe we need to do it that way again."

"Or maybe we need to do it the opposite way. You drive and I'll find it this time. Or maybe all theories about it are like spitting into the wind in the dark with a group of people. You're not sure whose it is, but you're now covered in spit."

"Gross," Jericho said. "I'll have to remember that one for the kids. Thanks, Punk."

"You're welcome, I think."

"They'll love that."

"Maybe I'm sorry would be a better response, then."

Jericho sighed and stared out over the desert vista. "What's the first thing you want to do when you get home?"

"If we can get home, you mean."

"Humor me."

"I have been for years, apparently." He worried his lip ring. "Honestly, I don't know. There isn't much that's different for me now than it was two years ago. Oh, except that my family thinks I'm dead. That's new and kind of different."

"It's definitely different," Jericho said.

"Not that it's all bad," Punk said. "No one's asked to borrow money for years. Of course, it's only felt like days for me."

Jericho rolled his eyes. "Being dead isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Sure, not if you have people who care if you live or die."

"People care if you live or die, Punk. You should have seen the articles about us in that scrapbook. It was amazing, the outpouring of love that happened after they thought we died."

"Too bad we're still alive to ruin it. You know what this is like?"

"What?"

"We're like the adult versions of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Except, you know, without the racism and the fence painting."

"How do you figure that?"

"They showed up at their own funeral to hear all the nice things people thought of them."

"Except we're two years too late for the actual funeral."

"But we have the newspaper accounts. It was considered a big tragedy in the wrestling world. So there's some comfort in that, although I suppose it's cold comfort."

"It is when you're missing your wife and kids."

"If it's fixable, they'll fix it. Then we can go home and get on with our lives."

"What is that?" Jericho asked, pointing to something by the side of the road. "Is that where we broke down the first time?"

"I can't tell. Turn around. There should be some kind of little cross or something still there."

Jericho turned the car around and pulled into the area. It looked like everywhere else, but it made Punk feel weird. "This is it," Jericho said. "See? I put that tiny stack of rocks there, off the side of the road."

"When did you do that?"

"Two years ago."

"They shouldn't still be here."

Jericho shrugged. "Yet there they are." He approached the rocks. "I was bored of throwing them, so I stacked them like that because I thought it would be a challenge. Kind of like rock Jenga."

"Those don't look old enough to have been here two years."

"Well, they're the same rocks. Look, that one has a big nose, and there's a dent on the side of the top one. I named them Barbie and Ken."

"You… named the rocks?"

"What can I say? I was really bored. Anyway, that's why I remember." He touched the top rock, and they toppled, causing Punk to give him another of those raised eyebrow looks. "What? Maybe they were here, waiting for us. Maybe Jim moved them. Maybe they're on the edge of the universe. You can't know they aren't the same rocks."

"It's the fact that you're convinced that they are that worries me the most," Punk retorted.

"Well, really. How many rock Jengas do you think are out here with rocks like Barbie and Ken in them?"

"Stop calling them that. It's weird."

"It's their names!"

Punk stared at his friend. "I worry about you, Chris."

"Yeah," Jericho said after a moment, running a hand through his hair. "I worry about me too. Sorry. I'll try to be less… angry."

"Please do. How long is it until dark, do you think?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because I think I see something." Punk pointed into the distance, where the light glinted off of something. "Is that the road sign?"

"I think so." Jericho gave the rocks one last look, then turned and followed Punk toward the glinting light, pausing to grab their bags from the open window of the car on his way past. When they reached it, they saw that it was more weathered and careworn than it had been the last time. Bullet holes peppered the words, and someone had stuck a bumper sticker for a zombie race to one of the sign's legs. The sticker was borderline unreadable, although it was obvious that people were running from zombies, and there was a bloody 5K in huge print near the place it wrapped around the pole.

"Zombies," Jericho mused. "Wouldn't that be a kick?" He peered down the road behind the sign. "Can you see anything?"

"Nothing," Punk said. "It's like there's a curtain, keeping the light out."

"Well, we'd better start walking."

"There's still time to change your mind, Chris."

"Not for me, but if you don't want to do this, I'd understand."

"We're in this together," Punk said softly. "Let's go."

They set their feet onto the road and started to walk.

%^%

"Do you remember walking this far?" Punk asked, after what felt like an eternity.

"All I remember was being stranded and irritated," Jericho said. "And that you wanted nothing to do with the house because you thought something bad was going to happen there."

"People really should listen to me more," Punk grumbled.

"Maybe so," Jericho conceded, "but we could have died out there on the highway, just as easily."

"Point taken." He frowned. "Is that the porch light?"

As he pointed it out, the light seemed to grow and swell. "I think it must be."

They trudged toward the light, eyes down so they could try to navigate the terrain. The desert was surprisingly rocky and there were many small barrel cactus to trip over, something Punk seemed to be doing every twenty feet or so, if his curses were any indication. Jericho stifled a chuckle when he heard it again. "Shut it, Chris," the Straightedge Superstar growled. "I can't see anything out here."

"Neither can I, but I'm not being mobbed by cacti."

"It's not my fault that they love me. Ouch, damn it! Let go, you greedy little plant!" The light grew very bright suddenly. "Ow!" Punk whined, trying to shade his eyes and get the cactus to let go.

"Someone out there?" came the voice.

"Herb?" Jericho asked.

The light bobbed and separated, becoming a pair of lanterns. "Chris? Phil?" Martha asked. "What in blazes are you doing out in the garden? Why didn't you come up to the house?"

"We couldn't find it," Jericho admitted. "And we saw the light…"

"Lulabelle is fixing to give birth," Herb said. "Lucky for you that she was." He gave Punk a concerned look. "Are you all right?"

The Straightedge superstar was staring down at his leg, a pained expression on his face. "Chris? That last cactus… wasn't a cactus."

"What?" Jericho asked, peering over at Punk.

"I think a snake bit me."

"That's not possible…" Jericho began, but then Punk slid down to the ground and convulsed. "Punk!"

Herb looked grave. "Martha, go out to the barn and fetch the antivenin kit. Chris, did you see the snake?"

Jericho had edged closer to his friend and stared down in horror at the snake that was still attached to his friend's leg. "It's right there."

Herb held the light over it, and grunted. Then he handed Jericho the light. "Hold that. I'll be right back."

"But Punk…"

"The snake is still pumping venom into him," said Herb, matter of factly. "We have to kill it." He grabbed something dark next to the shed, then leaned down and disentangled the snake's jaws from Punk's leg. A few seconds later, Jericho saw the old man set it on something, and a loud thunk followed. "Have to cut the head off, or we can't make more antivenin," he explained.

"What kind was it?" Martha asked, panting as she set the case on the stump.

Herb perused the vials, then picked one. "This one." Martha nodded and readied a syringe. Herb looked at Jericho. "You're going to have to carry him back to the house. Martha will show you the way."

Jericho said, "Will he be okay?"

"He'll be fine," Martha said briskly. While they'd been talking, she had expertly inserted the syringe and depressed the plunger. Punk convulsed a second time, and then he started to vomit. She flipped him on his side, so he wouldn't choke. "We're going to have to clear the fields," she said to Herb. "These things have been breeding again."

"What kind of a snake is that?" Jericho asked, squinting at the body on the dark stump.

"We call them Cactus Fairies," Martha said. She patted Punk, who finished vomiting and moaned weakly. "Come get your friend. You may end up a mess, and I'm sorry for that, but there's clothes at the house and you're welcome to stay the night, of course."


	17. The Answer

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 17: The Answer

"I've never seen a snake like that before," Jericho said, as he shifted the dead weight of his friend in his arms.

"This is the only place you see them." Martha sighed. "That's why we asked you to stay the first time. A bite from one of those can end your life quickly if you don't have the antidote. Luckily, we keep it all over the place. Herb and I have a tolerance for the venom, but you're fresh out of the world." She smiled. "And how did you find it?"

"Not like we left it."

"Oh?"

"We misplaced two years."

"Oh, dear." She sighed. "That will happen sometimes. We get so busy spinning tales that we forget to check the time, and before you know it, it's been a decade. Two years, you say? Did anything happen during them?"

"Other than our families declaring us dead and my wife marrying my best friend? Not a lot, no."

Martha pursed her lips. "Have you come back to stay, then?"

Jericho shook his head. "I want to go back to where we started, if we can."

"You may be able to," she said. "But Phil won't. At least, not any time soon. That venom is powerful, and he'll die if he's not treated properly. He won't get that anywhere but here."

"So Punk… Phil… he's stuck here?"

Martha pushed the door of the house open and indicated that Jericho should follow her to the living room. An ancient picture of Toby and Jim sat on the mantle, the girl heavily pregnant. "Set him on the couch, dear," Martha said. "That poor boy." She sighed and turned on the lamp, then crouched beside Punk. "See that? It's already swelling. If you leave and take him with you, the best case scenario is that he loses that leg. The worst is that he dies out there while you look for a hospital. We're miles from anything, and I don't think he'd make it in time. So no, he can't leave. Not if you'd like him to live."

Jericho sat down next to the couch. "This is all my fault," he said, burying his face in his hands. "He's here because of me. All of this is because of me."

"Oh, I don't think so," Martha said, busying herself with a bandage and some ointment. "We all make our own choices in life."

"But I talked him into coming back."

"I don't think you could talk him into or out of anything he wasn't already convinced of," Martha said. "Your friend Phil is strong willed, which is good. He'll be fine in a few days, if he stays in bed and rests."

Jericho laughed. "You obviously don't know him very well. Phil, stay in bed and rest? That's not likely at all."

"He's not going to be strong enough to do much else for the next couple of days." She clucked her tongue. "You may as well have a shower now. It's dusty out there, and his venom sweat won't help any. You know where the shower is. Clean towels and fresh clothes will be in there for you."

Jericho nodded. "You expected us back, didn't you?"

"Yes." She smiled at him. "But don't worry about that now. I need to make sure Phil is comfortable, and you need a shower."

"Yeah, okay." He shook his head, then headed for the shower.

"You poor dear," Martha said to Punk. "It's always so hard for you, isn't it?"

"Martha?" Punk muttered, his eyes opening halfway. "What happened?"

"Snake bite," she said, laying a hand against his brow. "You'll be all right."

"Chris?" He tried to sit up, then fell back, heaving.

"He's fine," she said. "Don't exert yourself, dear. It won't do anyone any good."

Phil managed a tiny nod and closed his eyes. "Tell Chris 'm sorry. S'my fault this happened."

Martha said, "Go to sleep, Phil. You can tell him whatever you'd like in the morning."

%^%

Punk was aware of movement before he woke fully. He pushed at something that was touching his face, a groan of frustration escaping him when he couldn't bat it away. "Punk," the voice hissed. "Punk, wake up."

He cracked one eye open. "Time to go to the airport already?"

Jericho stared at him. "We're at Herb and Martha's, on Zzyzx Road. You've been sleeping a long time."

"How long?"

"Almost an entire day. Martha woke you up for broth, so you wouldn't starve. How do you feel?"

"Like a truck hit me."

"You got bit by a snake."

"Where?"

"On the leg." Jericho glanced around, then leaned in and lowered his voice. "Martha and Herb say that you need a few days of rest and medicine and then you should be fine. Good as new, even."

"A few days?" Punk wrinkled his forehead. "What about getting back home?"

"Well," Jericho hesitated. "We can't go. You're not well enough to travel, and no hospital has the antidote to that particular snake bite. But the good news is, you can apparently build up a tolerance. Of course, that would mean getting bit again."

Punk shuddered. "I think I'll pass." He closed his eyes. "I'm so exhausted. But Chris, why aren't you able to go home?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Do you not trust Herb and Martha to take care of me?"

"Of course they will. Martha's already talking about making up a guest room downstairs so you'll be more comfortable."

Punk chuckled and it turned into a cough. "I thought they only had the loft."

"From what I've gathered, the house sort of expands and contracts with their needs. The loft is always there, but the bedroom may not be. It just depends."

Punk went to worry his lip ring and was surprised to find it missing. His eyes opened wide and he looked at Jericho. "My lip ring?"

"It got in the way of feeding you," Martha said, bustling into the room with a bowl of soup. "I'm glad to see you're awake at last. Chris was starting to worry about it. I told him you'd be fine this evening, but it's hard to have faith."

"Sorry," Jericho said. "But it was really a pain in the a—" He paused, seeing Martha's frown. "Rear end."

"Indeed it was! You can have it back tomorrow, young man." She smiled and held up the soup. "I hope you don't mind chicken noodle, because that's what you've been eating."

"That's fine," Punk said, his teeth still trying to scrape the now missing lip ring. "Man, this is weird. How did you get it out?"

"A lot of patience," Martha said. "Chris, be a dear and help Phil sit up, won't you?"

"Oh. Yes, ma'am." He stood and stretched, then helped pull Punk upright on the couch.

"Good. Now, do you think you can hold your own bowl and spoon and feed yourself, or do you need one of us to feed you?"

"I'll manage," Punk said.

"Very well." Martha grabbed a fold up TV tray and set it over Punk's lap, then gently set the soup on top of it. "We don't watch a lot of TV anymore, but the kids sure did love sitting in here with snacks and watching." She smiled. "You boys go back to your talking. I'll just be in the kitchen."

"So why can't you go?" Punk asked. "Can they not send you back?"

"Punk, man… I am not going back without you."

"You have to. If they can send you home, back to the place that we left… you have to go back and fix it. You can have your wife and kids back, Chris. What do I have in that world?"

"You have friends."

"I'll always have them, no matter what. I don't have anything back there like you do. My career? So what? This bite may end that, anyway. Family? I'm better off alone. Friends? You're the only one I've got anymore, besides Sarah. And she's safe, so now I need for you to be safe and happy, too. I mean it, Chris. You need to go home and be with your family. I'm sorry the car broke. It was my fault. I knew it was acting funny. I should have asked for a new rental…"

"It's not your fault, Punk. It's mine. If I hadn't slept late, you would have ridden with Kofi and this wouldn't have happened. I'm not leaving you here alone."

"I won't be alone," Punk said, his lips twisting into a smile. "I'll have Herb and Martha to keep me company. And who knows? Maybe someday, I'll make it back into the world and I'll be able to see you again. Say hello. Everyone else will have to think I'm some bastard son or a distant relative of Phil Brooks, but you'll know the truth."

"You boys are so silly," Martha said, bustling in again, a cloth in her hands. "You don't understand. This wasn't anything you could have stopped. The two of you were marked for this place, You were chosen to leave the world and stay here a night. Whether you came back or not was your choice." She smiled. "We thought you would, because you seemed like the type that would, but in the end, you have a choice on that."

"What do you mean, we were marked?" Jericho asked.

"The universe will sometimes line up in such a way that certain souls find their way to little pockets in the world, much like this one. They end up there because the pocket needs them for a time, so it marks them. Then it protects them and allows them to go forth again, knowing that some will return and some won't. That's why they're invited back."

"Toby said that not everyone is invited back."

"Sometimes," Martha said, carefully laying the cloth down on the table, "a mistake is made, and a person who wasn't meant to will wander into a pocket. They usually lose no more than the night they stay, and they are not invited to come back. They will never find this place again. But you, my dears… You're another sort of special case." She shakes her head. "You're one of each, and we were unsure which one the pocket wanted and which it didn't. I'm not even sure it knew."

"What do you mean?" Jericho asked.

"We thought it was you, at first," Martha told him. "You were the one we invited back. But then your friend got bitten and didn't die immediately. That snake bite would kill him in your world, that's true. But it's fairy venom, and it's already coursing in his veins, changing him. That's why he's so weak. So you see, we were wrong. It wasn't Chris that the pocket wanted, after all. It was you, Phil."


	18. The Pocket

A/N: I don't own the wrestlers or their families. I do own the OCs. Zzyzx road is a real place, out in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California, though I'm pretty sure it isn't anything like the place in the story. ;)

Zzyzx Road

Chapter 18: The Pocket

"Me?" Punk asked, startled. "What do you mean, it wants me?"

"I mean you were the one it chose to save. You were the one it was protecting. The reason the car died out there was…"

"Me," Punk sighed. "I get it. But why? Why me? Why not Chris?"

"Because he has a family that needs him." Martha smiled at Jericho. "And if he leaves with Herb in the morning, it will be set right. For him. If you leave, you'll die and Chris will be stuck in a later time stream. He won't be able to find his way back a third time."

"But…" Punk shook his head. "You can't do that to Chris! He has to go back."

"In the morning," Martha agreed.

"Punk… No. I'm not leaving you here. We go back together or not at all."

"And then I'll die and you'll be stuck God knows where, Chris. No, listen. I'm so tired of the world. I just want to sleep at night, and that has never happened anywhere but here. It wants me to stay, and I… I was thinking about asking to stay, anyway. And then that damned snake bit me."

"We need to work on your language," Martha said, frowning at Punk. "There are ladies present."

"Sorry, Martha," Punk said, ducking his head. "I'm just… frustrated with the whole thing."

"But why? You've said it yourself; there's nothing for you out there. We will love you like a family. And when the time is right, the pocket will choose someone for you so you won't be alone." She smiled. "That's how Herb found me and Toby found Jim."

"The universe is going to send you a girlfriend?" Jericho said. "What if he doesn't like her?"

"He'll love her. She'll be perfect for him."

"Uh, okay," Punk said. "I'm not even worrying about that right now. Chris, look. Go home to Jessica and the kids. They need you. And besides, if you don't, she'll marry Christian."

"No she won't," Jericho muttered. "That travesty is not happening twice. You're right. But…" He shook his head. "Punk, this seems so weird. We've been through so much together."

"And that will never change," Punk said. "You're always going to be the best friend I ever had, the one who I can always talk to."

"Yeah." Jericho cleared his throat. "So uh. I'm not going to forget, am I?"

"No," Martha said. "You'll always remember. Everyone else will think Phil died in an accident."

"Make sure it's not drug or alcohol related," Punk said. "At least make sure I'm not the one drinking or doing drugs and driving."

"It will be a simple twist of fate. You fall asleep behind the wheel after being awake all night, and cross the median. Chris, who happened to be asleep in the passenger seat, was jerked around but aside from some minor injuries is fine. All right?"

"Am I going to have to sit next to a dead body and wait for an ambulance?" Jericho asked.

"No, dear. You'll wake up in the hospital, and it will all be over." Martha smiled and kissed their foreheads. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day for both of you." She stood and left the room, leaving the two of them alone again.

"I don't like it," Jericho said finally.

"Neither do I, Chris," Punk said. "But it's the only way. Go on and be happy for both of us. Live the hell out of your life, okay? I'll be fine."

Jericho sighed and nodded, before pushing himself up from the floor and taking the half empty bowl from Punk. "You'll always be my brother, Philly."

Punk grinned weakly. "And you'll always be mine, Chrissy. Now leave me alone. I'm exhausted."

"Goodnight," Jericho said.

"Yeah. Goodnight," Punk said, sliding down with a wince and settling back onto the couch. Jericho snapped the light switch on the way out, sending the room into darkness, so he didn't see the single tear that trailed down his friend's face as he turned to the back of the couch and whispered, "Goodbye, Chris. I'm going to miss you."

%^%

Punk limped his way into the kitchen when the sun broke through the next morning. "Good morning," he told Herb as he eased his way into a chair, wincing.

"You're looking considerably better this morning," Herb said with a smile, settling back in his chair. "Have a good night?"

"Terrible," Punk said. "I tossed and turned, but I woke up knowing that today was the day and I needed a brave face for Chris."

Herb frowned. "He left already."

"What?" Punk sat up, wincing again. "When?"

"About an hour ago. I asked if he wanted to wake you, but he said to let you sleep, that you never get enough anyway."

Punk slumped down in his chair, fighting tears. "Damn it."

"He asked me to give you this." Herb dug into his pocket and pulled out a note. He passed it to Punk, who flipped it in his fingers, musing on it.

"I'll read it later," he said finally.

Herb nodded. "I've got chores to do. But you should know that he made it back fine. He'll be back with his wife and kids tonight, where he belongs. It was the right thing to do."

"I know," Punk sighed.

Herb stood and patted Punk's shoulder before leaving the kitchen. When he was sure he was alone, he opened the note. Already, he could see the marks from tears on the paper, and he knew that Jericho had been just as unhappy about it as he was. "Punk," it began, which made him smile, "I knew that saying goodbye would be too hard, so I thought I'd leave you this note and tell you that I'd see you later. No matter what anyone else says, there are always ways to find a closed door again and open it. I've talked with Herb, and he made a suggestion about sending you letters via Jim. I know it's not much, but at least it will let us stay connected, the way friends used to back in the old days. I miss your whiny ass already. Take care of yourself. Chris." Punk wiped a tear away and chuckled. Crazy old Chris, He really was going to miss him.

%^%

"Chris? Chris, can you hear me?"

"Punk?" Jericho muttered, and the room went silent.

"No, honey, it's Jessica."

"Jess?" Chris opened one eye and stared up at his very blurry wife. "Are you really here?"

"I am." She leaned down and kissed his head, which made him wince. He wanted to pull her close, crush her to him, and never let go, but his arms were immobile."You had an accident."

"Punk?" he asked again, this time knowing what she would say. Jessica shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Chris. He… he died on impact with the other car."

Jericho closed his eyes. "So at least he didn't suffer."

"No," Jessica agreed. "He didn't. But now you've got to get better, honey."

"What's wrong with me?"

"A couple of minor fractures," she said. "And you have a concussion. You'll be okay in a few weeks. I'm sorry about Phil."

"Me too. But he's better off where he is, because he won't be suffering so much there."

"Heaven?"

"A little pocket of it," Jericho said with a sigh.

%^%

After two weeks on Zzyzx Road, Punk was feeling almost himself again. The snake bite was gone, with the exception of a small dent in his leg. "What are we doing today?" he asked Herb and Martha over coffee.

"Wind's changed." Herb tilted his head. "Today, we're getting ready for guests."

Punk frowned. "Guests?"

"Be here tonight, by the way I figure it." He smiled at Punk. "Company will do you some good."

Punk sighed. He wasn't feeling all that social. He had to admit, he enjoyed the solitude of being able to walk and never see anyone else. At the same time, he missed his family and his friends, especially Jericho. I had no idea how much I liked that guy, he thought, until he was completely gone from my life. Sure, every day at the mailbox, there were letters. There were always so many that he felt like Jericho was writing constantly, but he knew with the differences in time that it wasn't true. "Maybe I'll take a nap."

"You go ahead, honey," Martha said. "We'll wake you when company's here."

"I'd rather be left alone," Punk muttered.

"If you insist," Herb said.

Punk went to his room on the first floor. He hadn't used the loft this time, though he'd been up there once, right after Jericho left. There wasn't much to see. He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep. Somehow, it worked, just as it always did here. He tried not to think about it too much.

%^%

A light tap on his door woke him, but he didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the pillow over his face and sighed. The door clicked open and footsteps entered the room. "Geez, you've become a heavy sleeper in my absence," said a familiar voice.

Punk froze, his brain reeling. It couldn't be… could it? "Chris?" he asked through the pillow.

"Get up, sleepyhead," Jericho said, snatching the pillow and holding it away from Punk, who stared at his friend in disbelief. "You haven't aged a day. In fact, you look a ton better than when I saw you last."

"I had a snake bite and was half dead," Punk retorted, snatching the pillow back. Jericho looked older, of course, but the time looked good on him. "You look really good. And I'm glad to see you." Then he frowned. "But I thought that you weren't ever going to come back. You weren't invited."

Jericho grinned. "Did you think I'd let that stop me? Besides, I'm here on business."

"Business?" Punk asked, frowning. "What sort of business?"

Jericho turned and sighed, then stepped into the hall. "Come on. He's not going to bite."

When he came back, he was followed by a lovely young woman who looked maybe three or four years younger than Punk. "Hi," she said.

"Hi?" Punk said, then looked to his friend again. "Um, wow, Chris. Who's this? One of your kids?"

"How old do I look?" Jericho muttered.

The girl glanced at Jericho. "I… No. come on, Phil. Surely you can't have forgotten me already? It's only been a few days or something here, right?"

Punk squinted at the girl, then shook his head. "She looks like Sarah."

"That's because I am Sarah," the girl said. She dug through her pocket and brought out an old, battered MP3 player. "Here. I believe this is yours. I made sure all the same music was on it as when you gave it to me, plus a little extra."

Punk took the MP3 player and held it, then stared up at Jericho and Sarah. "What are you doing here?" he said. "This place is going to screw up your lives! Everyone will think you're dead and then there will be a whole mess. Chris, didn't you learn anything from the last time?"

"I did, actually," Jericho said. "I'm staying for dinner and an evening, and then I have to get back to Jess and the kids."

"I'm staying forever," Sarah said, smirking at him. "And don't try to stop me this time, because Jim told me this is where I belong."

"Jim." Punk shook his head in disbelief. "You're here because of me. You're the match this place picked for me? That's just…. Weird."

Sarah chuckled. "Not so weird. I had a major crush on you. I told you years ago, I'm going to help you whether you want me to or not."

"But your family…"

She shrugged. "I've told them I'm going overseas. Eventually, they'll be told I died, and that will be the end of it. They've moved on, Phil. The whole world has. But I'll still never forget standing in that airport and hearing you tell me to go home and live my life. I finally listened, and now I'm back to share it with you. Don't worry, Phil. No matter what happens, I'm never going anywhere again."

The End


End file.
